Geostorm The Shift
Author: Bobby Akart
Date: 2019-09-11 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Apocalyptic; Post Apocalyptic; Dystopia; Science Fiction; Adventure; Adult
Description: Earth is alive. Deep beneath her skin is our planet's life blood. Rivers of molten iron, pushing around a core - her beating heart. This moving, fluid iron generates the magnetic field maintaining the delicate balance of life on earth. Until she has a change of heart.

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I suggest you refresh your memory and reacquaint yourself with the characters of The Boston Brahmin series. By clicking below you will be taken to a brief synopsis of the story to date, and then a summary of the principal characters. Afterward, you will be returned to the Epigraph.

Go To Previously in The Boston Brahmin Series

Other Works by Bestselling Author Bobby Akart

The Boston Brahmin Series

The Loyal Nine

Cyber Attack

Martial Law

False Flag

The Mechanics

Choose Freedom!

Blackout: A post-apocalyptic survival series

36 Hours

Zero Hour

Turning Point

The Prepping for Tomorrow Series

Cyber Warfare

EMP: Electromagnetic Pulse

Economic Collapse

Choose Freedom

Book Six

The Boston Brahmin Series

A novel by

Bobby Akart

Copyright Information

© 2016 Bobby Akart Inc. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Bobby Akart Inc.

Table of Contents

Dedications

Acknowledgements

About the Author, Bobby Akart

ABOUT THE BOSTON BRAHMIN SERIES

Epigraph

Prologue

PART ONE   November 2016

Two Weeks Earlier   Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

PART TWO   December 2016

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

PART THREE   January–February 2017

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

PART FOUR   March 2017

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

PART FIVE   April–May 2017

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Epilogue

Thank you

APPENDIX A   THE IMPACT OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

APPENDIX B   DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

APPENDIX C   CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES

APPENDIX D   BILL OF RIGHTS AND AMENDMENTS

Dramatis Personae

Previously in The Boston Brahmin series

Dedications

To the love of my life, thank you for making the sacrifices necessary so I may pursue this dream.

To the Princesses of the Palace, my little marauders in training, you have no idea how much happiness you bring to your mommy and me.

To the Founding Fathers, whose vision and bravery built America. For what we’ve become, I apologize.

Acknowledgements

Writing a book that is both informative and entertaining requires a tremendous team effort. Writing is the easy part. For their efforts in making The Boston Brahmin series a reality, I would like to thank Hristo Argirov Kovatliev for his incredible cover art, Pauline Nolet for her editorial prowess, Sabrina Jean, my second set of eyes, with FastTrack Editing, Stef Mcdaid for making this manuscript decipherable on so many formats, and the Team—whose advice, friendship and attention to detail is priceless.

Thank you!

Choose Freedom!

About the Author, Bobby Akart

An Amazon Top 10 ranked author in two genres and the author of eight #1 bestsellers, in both fiction and non-fiction, Bobby Akart has provided his readers a diverse range of topics that are both informative and entertaining. His attention to detail and impeccable research has allowed him to write bestselling books in several fiction and nonfiction genres.

Born and raised in Tennessee, Bobby received his bachelor’s degree with a dual major in economics and political science. He not only understands how the economy works, but the profound effect politics has on the economy as well. After completing his undergraduate degree at Tennessee in three years, he entered the dual-degree, JD-MBA program, obtaining a juris doctor at the age of twenty-three.

His education perfectly suited him for his legal career in banking, trusts, and investment banking. As his career flourished, business opportunities arose, including the operation of restaurants and the development of real estate. But after meeting and marrying the love of his life, he left the corporate world and developed online businesses.

Bobby lives in the backwoods of the Cumberland Plateau with his wife and fellow author, Dani, and their two English bulldogs—Bullie and Boom, aka the Princesses of the Palace.

SIGN UP FOR EMAIL UPDATES and receive free advance reading copies, updates on new releases, special offers, and bonus content. You can contact Bobby directly by email (BobbyAkart@gmail.com) or through his website www.BobbyAkart.com

ABOUT THE BOSTON BRAHMIN SERIES

And this is good old Boston,

The home of the bean and the cod,

Where the Lowells talk only to Cabots,

And the Cabots talk only to God.

Works of fiction are frequently based on historical fact. In the case of book one of The Boston Brahmin series, The Loyal Nine, and the entire upcoming Boston Brahmin series, history repeats itself. The Loyal Nine takes its name from nine patriotic Bostonians who chose freedom over the tyrannical rule of Great Britain. As the British exerted more control over the colonists, especially in the form of taxes, anger and resentment rose to a crescendo, resulting in the War for Independence.

Author Bobby Akart has observed similar acts of rage and discontent in America today. Sadly, many of us perceive an America which is in decline socially and economically. There are many perspectives and theories all across the political spectrum on how to save her. Methods may differ, but does it matter if the ultimate goal is achieved?

The Boston Brahmin series takes the reader on a journey based on historical fact—both in its character development and the events that take place during the timeline of the series. The Boston Brahmin series is about the societal and economic collapse of America. This type of collapse event is gradual and not sudden. The events portrayed in the series will rise to a crescendo, forcing the characters to make a decision—suffer under tyranny or choose freedom. They will be challenged physically and emotionally. As always, nothing is what it seems.

As the country slowly descends into economic and social despair, America is one bad news story away from collapse. In Cyber Attack, book two of The Boston Brahmin series, the reader is taken through a very realistic scenario that would bring America to its knees.

The remainder of the series deals with the aftermath of the collapse event. It’s our fellow man, not the event itself, which poses the greatest threat to our safety. The Boston Brahmin series illustrates the societal collapse, but concludes with realistic solutions to place the nation back on sound economic and political footing. Perhaps a reset was exactly what America needed to be restored to her greatness envisioned by the Founding Fathers.

Writing a series of this magnitude takes a considerable amount of time and research. It also asks the reader to become invested in the journey of the characters. Creating a book series about societal and economic collapse is a marathon, not a sprint. Read with me. Learn with me. Get involved in the backstory and details of the novels by frequently visiting my reader-dedicated website www.TheBostonBrahmin.com. I encourage you to interact with me on social media. I truly enjoy conversing with my readers—all of whom I consider friends.

If you have not had the opportunity, please read Seeds of Liberty, a #1 bestseller in the Politics, Social Sciences, and Modern History categories. Seeds of Liberty is a companion nonfiction guide to The Boston Brahmin series, which provides both a sociological analysis and a complete historical perspective of America’s penchant for rebellion.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this epic, history-rich thriller series. A story torn from the headlines, The Boston Brahmin series presents a nation plunged into chaos by enemies foreign and domestic. Only the Loyal Nine, a patriotic group of descendants of our Founding Fathers, can navigate the collapse and restore the American republic.

I suggest you refresh your memory and reacquaint yourself with the characters of The Boston Brahmin series. By clicking below you will be taken to a brief synopsis of the story to date, and then a summary of the principal characters. Afterward, you will be returned to the Epigraph.

GO TO PREVIOUSLY IN THE BOSTON BRAHMIN SERIES

Epigraph

What do we mean by the Revolution? The war?

That was not part of the revolution; it was only an effect and consequence of it. The Revolution was in the minds of the people before a drop of blood was shed.

~ John Adams

*****

Give me liberty or give me death!

~ Patrick Henry

*****

The essence of government is power.

Power, lodged as it must be in human hands, will ever be liable to abuse.

~ James Madison

*****

They who give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

~ Benjamin Franklin

*****

A little rebellion now and then is a good thing.

~ Thomas Jefferson

*****

The duty of a true patriot is to protect his country from its government.

~ Thomas Paine

*****

Choose Freedom!

~ Henry Winthrop Sargent IV

Prologue

Thanksgiving Day, November 24, 2016

Noon

The Jackson Family Home

Muddy Pond, Tennessee

Drew Jackson stepped out of the chilly November air and into the warmth of the Jackson family home. An early dusting of soft, powdery snow began to fall just after midnight as he walked the perimeter fence rows with his brother. The moisture falling on his face conjured up the feelings of that fateful day—when he thought he was dead.

As Drew walked into the open family room, he could feel the warmth of the Jackson home soak into his body. He removed the cast-iron skillet of corn bread from its tripod perch over the fire and placed it on the table. His mom immediately slit each wedge open and inserted butter made from goat milk into the center.

He could hear the melting butter sizzle on the hot corn bread skillet as he set a couple of split logs on the fire, providing added warmth to the glow surrounding his family. Their home was filled with the scents of pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and a twenty-pound turkey deep-fried in hot oil. It was not that different from any other Thanksgiving—but it was.

As the Jackson family gathered around the Thanksgiving table to say the blessing, Drew reminded himself of how thankful he was to be alive. Drew’s father—the Judge, as everyone called him, including his missus—said the blessing. But Drew’s mind was hundreds of miles away.

“Thank you, God, for the food we’re about to eat, for our family, to share these blessings …”

As his father blessed the Thanksgiving meal, Drew held hands with his mom to his right and his sister to his left. Unconsciously, he gave each of them a little squeeze, thanking them for healing his wounds and nurturing his soul. The Jacksons were a close-knit family, which was essential to survival in this post-apocalyptic world. It was the Jackson women, however, who helped Drew keep it together in the aftermath of seeing Abbie Morgan leave him behind that day in hurricane-ravaged Florida.

“This smells incredible, Mom,” said his brother, Jack. Drew knew Jack was capable of eating everything on the table. Jack was six feet of solid muscle, a machine that required protein and energy. Fortunately for the Jackson family and all of those who now depended upon them for survival, Jack was an unparalleled marksman. The deer and turkeys of the Upper Cumberland Plateau were no match for his skill.

“Amen,” said Drew’s sister, Alexandra. Like her brother, Allie, as the family affectionately called her, was more than a match for the wildlife, or the boys, of Muddy Pond. She was a stunning young woman who was every bit as capable of taking care of the family farm as her brothers. As an eighteen-year-old girl, she was frequently underestimated when compared to her fraternal twin brother, Jack. That was a mistake two wayward souls made one night when they tried to steal chickens out of the coop. Drew imagined those two were still pulling birdshot out of their backsides.

The sounds of clanking forks and knives faded into the background as Drew’s mind wandered to that day he was lying in the wet grass at Camp Blanding. His mind raced again, like in his dreams, replaying the events over and over again.

Gunfire. Shouting. Screams.

Am I in Afghanistan? No, too wet.

The pain in his head was unbearable. He couldn’t open his eyes.

Try to breathe.

“Judge, please pass the corn bread around, but be sure to use the hot pads.”

Then the sun was out. His face began to warm. The shivering was over. His mind again wandered to the Middle East.

Why can’t I move?

A dog was licking his face. Is it Jack’s beloved Labrador—Sammie Jo?

“Mom, this dressing never tasted so good. I love the extra sweet onions you mixed in.”

“They’re Vidalias from the Judge’s garden.”

Drew recalled finding the strength to get up and look for help. He had wandered in the direction of the base housing, which was where he found the bodies.

Slaughtered. All of them. Children, too.

He thought he was crying, but it was blood from his gashed forehead dripping down his cheeks. They couldn’t defend themselves against their murderers. They weren’t allowed guns.

Drew had retched, emptying his stomach at the sight of the massacre. In the process, he discovered his cracked ribs. As he wrapped his arms around himself to provide self-comfort, his broken forearm revealed itself. He dropped to his knees, revealing a bloody gash in his thigh.

He was fully coherent now, and with that, the pain made itself known.

“Jack, normally we’d go to the turkey shoot this afternoon. What should we do instead?”

Drew gathered himself and made his way through the woods toward a familiar place. He dragged his body through the trail, frequently stumbling over fallen tree branches. Hurricane Danni had taken its toll.

When he made his way into the clearing, Drew was greeted by guns pointed at him, but behind the barrels were friendly faces. For two weeks, the McCoys nursed him to health. The couple and their grandson had survived the onslaught of escaped prisoners who had nearly beaten Drew to death. When faced with return fire, the inmates quickly moved on to easier targets.

Drew’s mind began to confuse the past and the present.

“More turkey, please.”

“Okay, honey. Hey, Jack, do you want this other turkey leg?”

“I need to get home to Muddy Pond,” Drew had announced one morning as he entered the McCoys’ kitchen. The Floridians were prepared for this eventuality.

While Drew was unconscious, they’d found the keys to the Secret Service-issued Suburban in Drew’s pocket and retrieved the vehicle from Lulu, Florida, where it was parked. They mustered up enough gas to fill him up and provided him with a couple of weapons.

Drew used backroads as he traveled the six hundred miles to Muddy Pond. Through Georgia, he encountered minor resistance in a few small communities, but he used his temporary Secret Service credentials to gain favor with the local law enforcement personnel who guarded the towns’ borders.

The tearful reunion and emotions Drew felt on the day he drove up the mile-long gravel driveway to the Jackson homestead was unsurpassed until now. Drew was trying to keep it together. I have to tell them.

“Drew, honey, you hardly said a word during dinner,” started Janie Jackson, retired ER nurse and head nurturer of the Jackson family. “Were you not hungry?”

“I loved it, Mom,” replied Drew. “I have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

Janie pushed away from the table and began to gather up the family’s fine china, which had been passed down through four generations of Jacksons, including Drew’s namesake, President Andrew Jackson.

“I’ll help you, Mom,” said Drew as he gathered up Allie’s plate and some serving pieces. Drew addressed his brother and sister. “Jack and Allie, go and relieve the guys on the front gate for a while so they can get some dinner too. And, Jack, let’s organize a pickup football game with some of the boys. They could use the stress relief and, after all, it is Thanksgiving.”

“Deal,” replied Jack. Drew’s siblings donned their jackets and grabbed their rifles as they left. Everyone left the house armed.

Drew and his parents steadily removed the dishes into the farmhouse sink. The Jacksons had two wells on their property to provide fresh water. They didn’t waste fuel on running the generators to pump it into the kitchen, so they used buckets to fill the sink.

“I’ll get this water boiling,” said Drew’s father. They would pour boiling water over the dishes and allow them to soak in soapy water. Later, the dishes would be scrubbed and rinsed. The entire process took two gallons of water. Drew was always amazed at how much energy and water was used in running a dishwasher. The same purpose could be accomplished with two gallons and some elbow grease.

Janie removed her apron and dried her hands. Then she turned to Drew and looked him in the eye. “You’re gonna start talkin’, young man. Right now.”

Drew had used a variety of interrogation methods in his career. Some detainees could withstand a lot of pressure, at which time Drew would turn the screws of pain until even the strongest man’s will was broken. But, without a doubt, no one could resist the questioning of Janie Jackson.

Drew didn’t hold back. “Mom, I miss Abbie. I love her and I want to find her.” He waited for her reaction. Drew was afraid his mother would be heartbroken at the thought of him leaving.

Janie took Drew’s face in her hands and looked up to him. “True love only comes around once. It will knock on the door of your heart until you let it in. It will speak to your soul until you allow it to sing to your heart.”

“Mom, I want to go to her—in Boston. She doesn’t even know I’m alive. It’s been nearly three months. What if—”

She cut him off. “Now, you listen to me, Drew Jackson. You find her. There are no woulda-shoulda-couldas in this family. Find Abbie and tell her how you feel.”

“I think she does love me, Mom. I also think she and her friends need me.”

Drew’s father had returned from the fire and overheard the conversation. “Last night’s broadcast over the shortwave revealed a lot,” said the Judge. “If you’re right and that is your friend’s brother, they intend to set this country on the right course. They’re patriots, like us.”

“Dad, I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone,” said Drew.

“You do what it takes to find your girl and put this nation back where it belongs.”

“I will, Dad. I’m sure the broadcasts are coming from Sarge. Last night really struck a nerve. I need to see what I can do to help. Most importantly, I need to find Abbie.”

“We’ll get you saddled up and ready to go at first light. But, son, there is one thing I want to say. I know you hold some resentment for John Morgan because of what happened that day. I want you to reconcile things with Abbie’s father. He was doing what was best for his daughter, his only child. You can’t begrudge him that. I would do the same for you or the twins.”

“I understand, Dad. I’m alive. I love Abbie. I also love my country. I’ll head to Boston tomorrow.”

The three of them hugged and shed tears of love. Prior to the collapse, Thanksgiving had become a day of overeating, football, and early bird shopping at Walmart. The concepts of thankfulness and gratitude had been replaced with indulgence and entitlement.

Genuine gratitude required free will. Nobody could be coerced into being thankful, and no amount of incentives could manufacture gratitude. It was the perfect and complete obligation of the human spirit. Each of us was singularly responsible for whether or not we lived a life of gratitude. Regardless of circumstances, that freedom was available to all who chose to change their perception on life.

Be thankful for what you have rather than bemoan what you don’t.

PART ONE

November 2016

Two Weeks Earlier

Chapter 1

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

9:00 a.m.

The Miss Behavin’

Marblehead, Massachusetts

The gentle wind billowed the sails as the Miss Behavin’ skipped across the white-crested waves of the cold Atlantic Ocean. The forty-foot yacht bounced along the waves, sending cold spray onto the deck, invigorating Sarge as he thought about what his brother meant to him.

Corporal Morrell deftly guided them through the wind-whipped water. Sarge was reflective. No one was actually dead until the waves they caused in the world returned to the sea. His brother had left his mark on the world, without a doubt.

Sarge never liked sailing, yet sailing had been his brother’s life. Steven would talk about the sea, the sun, and the cry of the birds, but Sarge only pretended to be interested. He regretted so many things, and not sharing Steven’s love of sailing was one of them.

Steven would describe sailing as flying over the water, clearing a path through the waves with the goal of leaving the duties of the world behind him. Sailing into the vast, blue ocean was freedom to him.

“It’s better than sex,” Steven had once quipped, but then quickly added, “Nah, not really.” He’d said the water called to him like a hot chick would whisper into his ear. He’d joke about this often, but Sarge knew he was sincere. Steven sailed in this life, and he would sail in the next.

“This is a good spot,” instructed Sarge to Corporal Morrell, who adjusted the sails and slowly brought the Miss Behavin’ to a slower pace within sight of nearby Bakers Island.

It was on Bakers Island during a family outing when Sarge and Steven were boys that they first met John Morgan. Although their father and Morgan were close friends, the Sargent brothers weren’t around Morgan very often because the duties of politics kept him traveling abroad for many years as the two boys grew up. It was a weekend outing at the Bakers Island Light Station that set the course of the Sargent boys’ lives, they just didn’t know it.

Sarge’s brother never talked about death despite the number of times he cheated it. Intuitively, Sarge knew Steven would want to be buried here so he could forever roam the ocean he loved so much.

Burial at sea was a time-honored tradition. For a Navy SEAL, there was no more exalted option for their mortal remains than being returned to the ocean.

The Miss Behavin’ gently rocked in the ripple of waves on the leeward side of the island as Sarge gathered himself to speak. He was alone except for Brad and two more security personnel. Julia demanded to come along, as did Katie, but Sarge didn’t want Julia to risk harm to their baby. As for Katie, they needed to have a talk.

Sarge caught his breath, cleared his mind, and started. “Steven’s last words were ‘Karma is just a polite way of saying ha-ha, fuck you.’ This is how my brother lived his life—balls to the wall with no regrets.

“Steven always said to me that a ship in the harbor may be safe, but that’s not what ships are for. They are made to sail—attack the waves and conquer the unknown. Steven lived his life in the same manner.

“He was a warrior—made to protect and fight. For him, his death would not be a moment of sadness. Sadness comes from not living life to its fullest. The way of the warrior is the resolute acceptance of death. This was the way of my brother.

“There are so many things left unsaid between us. Now is not the time. This is the time to honor my brother, the warrior. I found these words in Steven’s berth below. He lived by them, and he will be buried at sea with them.”

Sarge wiped several tears mixed with sea spray from his face. As the seagulls cried above them and the surging waves washed onto the rocky shore, Sarge read the fitting tribute to Steven Sargent.

“Make no mistake. I will defend my brothers. I will defend the weak. I will defend our way of life. I will bring the fight to your home to keep you out of mine. I will pursue relentlessly all who threaten my family. I will sacrifice so that others may live. I am an American. I am a patriot. I am a sheepdog. If you strike me or those like me, you will lay upon the earth until you are buried in it.”

Sarge, with the help of Brad and Corporal Morrell, reverently placed Steven’s weighted body into the Atlantic Ocean to seek its final resting place. As it slowly disappeared into the darkness below, Sarge said, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I love you, my brother. Godspeed.”

Chapter 2

Friday, November 11, 2016

10:00 a.m.

Prescott Peninsula, 1PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Sarge joined Brad and Donald, who were waiting for him in the newly created war room located in the underground bunker of 1PP. When Donald had renovated the former astronomy complex over the summer, he’d fortified the bunker with a burster slab of concrete and steel. He’d also created an EMP-proof facility that included air filtration and blast doors. The facility was designed to withstand most explosive threats as well as biological attacks.

One room that had been used as a library became a war room of sorts. Sarge and Donald adorned the walls with maps Sarge had retrieved from 100 Beacon yesterday. A variety of colored Post-it notes were spread about, delineating a local, regional, and national strategy envisioned by Sarge. Donald had secured all of the documents and computers containing the intricacies of the Boston Brahmin’s financial dealings inside the room as well.

Sarge needed a place to work without prying ears and eyes. He also needed to discuss the future with his two most trusted friends, besides Julia, of course.

Donald would become Sarge’s financial consigliere. The Italian term for chief advisor suited Donald’s role perfectly. The consigliere, although not officially part of the hierarchy of the Mafia, played an important role in a crime family. He was often the most trusted confidant of the family boss and typically the most knowledgeable of the Mafioso family’s financial affairs. The concept was a throwback to medieval times when the king would place his trust in an advisor who could be summoned for strategic counsel.

Because virtually every decision, whether made by the king or the capo di tutti capi—the godfather of the Mafia—had a monetary aspect, the chief advisor was usually well versed in the organization’s monetary affairs.

Brad was a brilliant military strategist who seemed to have a knack for dealing with this post-apocalyptic world. The rules of engagement were vastly different than the battlefields of the Middle East, where most modern commanders cut their teeth.

Following the cyber attack, the streets of America became the theater of war. Most Americans were reluctant to think about the ramifications of war, especially since they were typically fought abroad. The prospect of destroying their fellow man was not part of their psyche. In this post-collapse America, survival meant killing. The war zone was now Main Street, USA.

Brad, who was levelheaded except when he disliked someone, had a firm grasp on this concept. Politics was not his forte. It was Sarge’s.

Sarge discussed the prospects of bringing Abbie into his inner circle of advisors. She was, after all, a sitting senator who just a few months ago was in line to become the next Vice President of the United States. However, her areas of expertise were grounded in the pre-collapse America. She was not cut out for the new normal, which required assassinations, insurgency operations, and attacks upon fellow Americans. Her time would come to lead if Sarge was successful in his strategy.

“Hi, guys,” announced Sarge as he settled into a chair at the head of the table. He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “My brother’s death leaves a huge hole in our hearts and our team. Allowing Steven to oversee the activities of the Mechanics freed up Brad to undertake more traditional military functions.”

“I can handle both, Sarge, until we come up with a solution,” said Brad.

Sarge had contemplated this and decided against it. The success of their future would depend upon political as well as military solutions. But politically, he couldn’t taint Brad’s stellar reputation among his peers nationwide by having him associated with the functions to be carried out by the Mechanics. These functions belonged in the world of black-ops, off-the-books operations.

“I appreciate that, Brad,” said Sarge. “I can’t have your fingerprints on these things. You need to maintain that separation so you can have plausible deniability. For now, I’ll coordinate their efforts.”

“No freakin’ way, Sarge!” protested Donald. “You can’t be out there risking your life.”

Sarge started laughing, which enraged Donald more. His face turned red and he was about to let out another outburst when Sarge held his hands up to calm his dear friend.

“Donald, no worries, old buddy. No Rambo shit for me. Steven did an excellent job setting up and establishing regions of responsibilities for his top lieutenants. In fact, several of them now occupy the condos at 100 Beacon. I’ll meet with them just like always, but only at the well-fortified 100 Beacon location.”

“Sarge,” started Brad, “at least let me beef up the security around there with my men.”

Donald continued to noticeably shake his head in disagreement. Sarge didn’t want to argue with his friend, especially when he knew Donald was right. But the group was already down one man and, as they were about to discuss, would be down another member as well.

“Okay, I’m on board with that. The military presence will provide a deterrent effect for any local thugs who might have designs on testing us. But keep a wide perimeter. I don’t want to draw the attention of the UN forces unnecessarily.”

“No problem,” said Brad.

“Fine,” muttered Donald. Sarge let Donald have his opinion because it was voiced out of concern for his friend.

“Okay. We’ll meet here every day as practicable. This will give us an opportunity to share information and stay on top of planning. Also, it will continue to be our duty to keep the Boston Brahmin informed during the lunch hour. I believe this practice has helped us keep everyone within our charge as calm as possible. As odd as it sounds, this diverse group has assimilated into our new lifestyle. Let’s not change things now because of recent adversity.”

Sarge tried his best to discuss Steven’s death in an impersonal manner. He vowed to share his emotional feelings on the subject in private, only with Julia.

“I agree,” said Donald. “If you need me to take on that role, just say the word.”

“Thanks, buddy,” said Sarge, who turned his attention to Brad. “We need to contain the UN. What do you know about their casualties from Tuesday?”

“They took a real hit,” replied Brad. “They lost quite a few men inside the State House during the firefight. But they sustained heavy losses of life and equipment around the perimeter they established. Steven was right. O’Brien and General Zhang planned an ambush and Steven sniffed it out. The Mechanics were very successful in taking out most of their units and confiscating weapons and vehicles.”

“Good,” said Sarge as he was once again forced to recollect the death of his brother. “Do you have a feel for Zhang’s attitude. Did we kick a hornet’s nest?”

“It’s too early to tell. Thus far, they haven’t undertaken any of their normal activities. My men entered the area after we deemed it secured and placed the dead in body bags. We returned the bodies of their deceased soldiers Wednesday afternoon. It was the right thing to do.”

Sarge leaned back in his chair and quietly wished the humanitarian gesture by Brad’s men would diffuse the tense standoff between the so-called UN peacekeeping forces and the Marines. Time would tell.

“If Zhang’s troops are not interested in conducting more raids and roadblocks, then we’ve accomplished more than just freeing Governor Baker and the rest of the Massachusetts legislators. We may have broken the UN’s spirit.”

“It’s possible,” added Donald. “Or they’re regrouping to come back with a vengeance.”

“Very likely,” said Brad. “Do you want me to reach out to General Zhang? I could find a way to bypass O’Brien and open up a dialogue. You know, soldier to soldier.”

Sarge liked the idea of diplomacy. General Zhang didn’t have a vested interest in this fight other than to achieve some type of accolades from his superiors.

“It’s worth a try,” replied Sarge. “Besides, O’Brien is probably hiding under a rock somewhere.”

“I can’t believe he got away,” said Donald.

“Pure luck and an uncanny ability to take advantage of the chaos in the State House saved his dumb ass,” said Sarge. “One of the guys reported that O’Brien used a woman and child as a prop to provide a cover story. He was allowed to leave because none of our guys knew what he looked like. Julia found some images of him and this ass-clown Elkins to disseminate to the Mechanics. They all know what to look for now.”

Sarge slid the images of the two men to Brad and Donald.

“Well, O’Brien is a big one,” said Donald. “And you can barely see Elkins’s face behind that big schnoz. These two will stand out in a crowd next time.”

“That brings us to the second order of business, which is finding O’Brien and that cockroach Elkins. I’m gonna meet with the Mechanics day after tomorrow to assign teams to search for O’Brien. As for Elkins, I have a specific plan.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Brad.

“Katie.”

Chapter 3

Friday, November 11, 2016

4:00 p.m.

1 PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Sarge had not spoken with Katie at length until now. There were several emotional outbursts since she was told of Steven’s death, and he allowed Julia and Abbie, who were far more diplomatic than he was, to console Katie.

The Loyal Nine came together by fate, and their group was built on a foundation of trust. Family relationships and associations were part of it. Abbie, Julia, Brad, and J.J. were tied to the Boston Brahmin by lineage. Sarge and Steven were chosen at a young age by the handshake of two powerful men on Bakers Island one sunny day.

The Quinns came into the fold because of Donald’s loyalty to a trusted friend of John Morgan’s. Katie was allowed into the inner circle by virtue of her special relationship with Steven and her extraordinary analytical ability as a brilliant spook within the CIA.

Katie was the member of the Loyal Nine with whom the group interacted the least. It wasn’t because she was unwelcome. To the contrary, Katie was considered a vital asset to the team and an important mole for Morgan inside the White House. Katie’s time was spent in Washington, so levels of trust weren’t fully established.

As the Loyal Nine came together, there was no stated goal or formal association defined. They had common interests and a love for country. None of them ever contemplated a death within the group. Nor did they consider the possibility of expelling one of their own.

Sarge had seen the warning signs that emerged following his appointment to head the Boston Brahmin. Katie’s love for Steven resulted in a jealousy of Sarge’s success and attention. Naturally, she thought Steven deserved accolades of his own, so she set about to drive a wedge between the brothers.

When she saw the opportunity for Steven to shine, she’d guided him to undertake the risky operation on Election Day—despite Sarge’s instructions. She admitted to Abbie and Julia that she had been blinded by envy, and the result had been Steven’s death.

Sarge recognized there was a major change in the group’s dynamics. The loss of Steven was huge. But now he had to deal with the possible banishment of Katie. He’d never mulled over the prospect of a traitor or malcontent within their ranks. Besides, Katie was hardly either of these. If she were, his decision would be an easy one. Traitors got shot. Troublemakers got straightened out. If the rabble-rouser didn’t change his ways, he got shot too.

All of the members of the group were privy to the secrets of the Boston Brahmin, including their wealth, political power, and just as importantly, their location. Banishment was not the answer because an angry, rejected person was a potential liability.

Sarge had a solution to avoid the fate afforded a traitor or troublemaker. He hoped Katie would agree to take on her new role. Otherwise, the alternative was not a good one—for her.

“Katie, I want you to find my brother’s killer. There’s nobody more aware of Steven’s dealings with Elkins and Grant than you.”

“You’re right, Sarge,” said Katie sheepishly. Their conversation had been going on for ten minutes as Katie continued to apologize and pledge her loyalty to Sarge and the group. She admitted her mistakes and acknowledged responsibility for Steven’s death. She was desperate to make it up to Sarge.

“Good. One of Brad’s most trusted men, Second Lieutenant Michael Smalley, is also very familiar with O’Brien and his operation. He was involved with the quasi-training session of O’Brien’s top people early on at Camp Curtis Guild. Smalley will be a valuable asset to you, and you can count on him to have your back.”

Sarge did not reveal to Katie that Smalley was under strict instructions to monitor Katie’s activities. Sarge was giving her wide latitude in conducting this search. He wanted to make sure she stuck to the task at hand. If Smalley got the impression Katie was going off the reservation, he knew what to do.

“I know Smalley,” said Katie. “We’ll find the guys, Sarge. I promise.”

Sarge wanted to keep this conversation short. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly forgive her for the role she’d played in Steven’s death. Katie didn’t stick the knife in his brother’s back, but she was instrumental in clouding his judgment, which allowed it to happen. It was best that Sarge keep their interaction to a minimum until some time passed.

“Katie, this is very important. I want you to promise me you’ll do everything necessary to bring Elkins back alive. I want to look my brother’s killer in the eyes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 4

Friday, November 11, 2016

8:00 p.m.

Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Julia returned to their bungalow, where Sarge was loading a couple of chunks of wood into the Vermont Castings wood-burning stove, which filled the room with heat. Even this small cast-iron unit overwhelmed their space, prompting Sarge to crack a window.

“How’s this for a treat?” asked Julia as she presented a box of Ritz Crackers, a jar of Reese’s Peanut Butter, and a squeezable honey bear.

“Delish.” Sarge laughed. “Why haven’t I seen the Reese’s before?”

“These were part of the food provisions at the Food Bank. Steven, um, well, he knew you liked it, so he set aside a case of each for you.”

“He did this during the raid?” asked Sarge.

“Yeah,” she replied softly. “He was always cool under pressure.” Julia’s voice trailed off as Sarge blankly focused on the flame inside the stove. She vowed to be more careful as Sarge adjusted to the loss of his brother.

Julia had to change the subject. She rubbed Sarge’s shoulders for a moment until he responded, bringing himself out of the trance.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Let’s have some.”

“Allow me,” said Julia as she patted his back and kissed the top of his head. She made her way to the small dining table and fixed up the peanut butter hors d’oeurves topped with honey. “Try this.”

“Compliments au chef,” said Sarge in his best French.

“Merci, Monsieur,” replied Julia, who quickly gave Sarge a loving hug.

She was worried about Sarge, and anytime he showed signs of his old self, she rewarded him with extra physical attention. It had only been a few days and Julia helped Sarge through the grieving process the best she could. In a world where you were constantly maintaining a heightened state of awareness, a person didn’t have the luxury of sinking within themselves. Sarge was under a lot of pressure now. Last Tuesday’s raid on the State House created a whole new dynamic in their lives. There wasn’t time to grieve for his brother. There was work to be done.

She talked to Sarge when he was receptive, but mainly, she listened. They shared memories of Steven growing up. They laughed about his sexual exploits. They wondered what kind of uncle Steven would have been to their unborn child.

“So, Sarge,” started Julia playfully, “I couldn’t help but notice there’s a package on the sofa, and it has a ribbon tied around it. Sure looks like a present to me.”

Sarge laughed as he finished off another Ritz cracker smothered with peanut butter and honey. Sarge picked up the package and presented it to her with a smile. “For you—Momma.”

Julia, giddy with excitement, quickly unwrapped her gift and immediately began crying as she clutched the book to her chest. It was a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

“Honey, don’t cry,” said Sarge as he kissed away her tears. “I love you. I didn’t want to make you sad.”

Julia sniffled and then laughed. “I’m not sad. I love it! I was just afraid that, you know, I was afraid you forgot I was pregnant.”

“No, darling, I didn’t forget. It’s just been so crazy and this is our first time to talk since, well, Tuesday. Honey, I’m sorry I’ve been out of it. It’s just—”

“We’re having a baby,” interrupted Julia, beaming with pride as she held her belly.

“Indeed we are,” said Sarge. He placed his hands on her slightly bulging abdomen. “While I was at 100 Beacon Wednesday night, I went through Donald’s prepper library to pick up some maps and books. I came across this one. The man thought of virtually everything last summer when he was planning 1PP.”

“Sarge, Donald even remembered to stock prenatal vitamins, moisturizer to alleviate stretch marks, as well as medications for constipation and gas.”

“I love Donald Quinn.” Sarge laughed.

Julia playfully smacked him with her new book. She immediately started thumbing through the pages, anxious to dive in. “Susan told me she had one of those rockers left over from her pregnancy with Becca,” said Julia. “I know it might be dangerous, but it’s in the Quinn’s garage. Do you think you could get it for me? She said there’s a crib there and some other things for a nursery that we can have.”

“Count on it,” said Sarge. “I’ll get with Brad and we’ll send in the Marines!”

Julia set the book on the table and fed Sarge another loaded Ritz. She wiped the crumbs off his chin and kissed him on the mouth.

“I love you, Sarge. We have so much to talk about regarding the baby, but it can wait. Tuesday changed everything, didn’t it?”

Sarge paced the floor before flopping on the couch. He patted the cushion, encouraging Julia to join him. He took a deep breath as he propped his feet up on the coffee table. Julia nuzzled in closer. She liked this.

“It’s time,” started Sarge. “No, actually, it’s past time to get this country back on its feet. O’Brien’s decision to storm the State House was brazen. Kidnapping the governor and the legislature was criminal. But those actions pale in comparison to the crimes against the people of this nation by a President who has the ability to restore power to all but is selectively benefitting his loyal few.”

“You’re talking about the West Coast,” added Julia.

“Exactly. He controls the ports from San Diego to Seattle. He’s made arrangements with the North Koreans to send in replacement parts for the collapsed power grid along the West Coast.”

Julia interrupted. “Wait, did you say North Korea? They can’t even power their own country much less ours.”

“Yes, North Korea,” replied Sarge. “They have the ability to expand their electric grid across the entire northern half of the Korean Peninsula, but they purposefully choose not to. Keeping the peasant class under the thumb of Kim Jong-un is the key to maintaining control. Denying their citizens modern critical infrastructure like electricity, running water, and the Internet accomplishes that purpose.”

“I suppose they do have the technological capability to build these massive transformers,” said Julia. “They just seem like an odd source for the parts.”

“I’ve learned from our contacts within General Sears’s command that the President is offering the supreme leader a seat at the table of the United Nations.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” asked Julia in more of a statement than a question.

“Nope,” replied Sarge. “I’m sure it’s been part of his so-called fundamental transformation from the beginning.”

Julia pushed herself off the sofa and immediately realized the ordinarily simple task was going to become more difficult to do. Nonetheless, she grabbed the Reese’s and a spoon, digging out a big scoop of peanut butter. Who needs pickles?

“What’s the next step?” she asked as she returned to her spot next to Sarge on the sofa.

“Tomorrow is a full day of planning, followed by an evening with the master,” replied Sarge.

“John has been very supportive,” said Julia.

“John? We’ve always called him Mr. Morgan,” said Sarge.

Julia laughed and patted his stomach, which was getting smaller than his pre-collapse fighting weight.

“John,” said Julia, stretching out his name for emphasis, before continuing, “says that he is retired now and mister no longer suits him. Besides, he imagined that you would now be called Mr. Sargent.”

“Hey, I like it. You may call me Mr. Sargent!”

“Fat chance, buddy. I was thinking more along the lines of Henry.”

Chapter 5

Saturday, November 12, 2016

2:00 p.m.

Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

The brown and yellow leaves blew across the ground in front of them—rustling and hustling to their next destination before the wind determined it was time to move along. Anyone who believed that fallen leaves were dead had never watched them dancing on a windy autumn day.

“Henry,” started John Morgan as he pulled the blanket closer under his chin. Despite the cool temperatures, he insisted on sitting by the reservoir in the Adirondack chairs. Morgan was reflective. “It’s not that we have to quit this life one day. But it’s how many things we have to quit all at once. For some, it’s the joy of children and family. For others, it’s the pursuit of happiness as they’ve defined it. Happiness is a personal concept. For me, it was the ability to pursue, conquer, and control. These concepts are not necessarily mutually exclusive.”

The waves rippled away from the shore as a northerly breeze forced them toward Winsor Dam. Once in a while, a cloud would pass over the sun, creating a slight chill in the air. Sarge and his mentor enjoyed the solitude of the Quabbin Reservoir. The eerie yodel of a loon carried across the water as another responded in their form of social interaction.

Sarge and Morgan continued their conversation.

“Winter is coming,” said Sarge. “Americans will begin to die at a faster rate as food disappears and the hazards of extreme weather threaten their health.”

“Yes, Henry. I feel the sense of urgency that you do. Regretfully, I underestimated the resolve of this President to allow Americans to suffer in order to shape the nation in his vision. Admittedly, I had similar designs. My goal was to put us back on the proper course, one envisioned by our ancestors.”

Sarge waved over one of the guards who were his constant companions. He placed his blanket over Morgan, providing him additional warmth. The increased cloud cover had dropped the temperature several degrees. Sarge instructed the Marine to retrieve two more blankets and a surprise he had for his godfather. After the guard left, Sarge began to lay out his strategy.

“Sir, first we have to drive the vermin out of Boston using a combination of Brad’s Marines and the Mechanics. By reaching out to the smaller, local communities in the region, we’ve established allies, who now realize that help is not coming from the government. Many of these towns fell victim to the UN’s callous acts in the name of peacekeeping. They’ll gladly provide warm bodies to help us set a new course for the region.”

“Good,” said Morgan. “Henry, you possess an astute political mind, whether you fancy the compliment or not. You’re a skilled orator and a consensus builder. You’re exactly what this nation needs to rebuild and heal.”

The guard returned with the blankets, which were folded to conceal a time-honored method of warming the bones—Morgan’s beloved Glengoyne Scotch whisky. Sarge revealed the eighteen-year-old bottle and two glasses.

“Well done, Henry.” Morgan smiled as he patted Sarge on the arm. “Pour me a glass, young man. No ice is necessary today, don’t you agree.”

Sarge laughed as he poured half a glass for each of them. They clinked and took a sip.

“I must warn you, sir. This is the last bottle at our disposal, so I suppose we should make it last.”

“Henry, it’s time for you and I to forge new traditions. Once this bottle is emptied, we’ll cast it away and find something else to share when we celebrate.”

Sarge tipped his glass to his mentor and finished it off. Morgan did the same, wincing slightly as the sudden rush of alcohol hit his body. Sarge had discussed Morgan’s health at length with J.J. earlier in the day as part of their conversation concerning Julia’s pregnancy. The Massachusetts winter would be hard on Morgan, opined J.J. After a brief conversation with Donald, a private bedroom within 1PP was agreed upon. Abbie could have her privacy in the bungalow, and Morgan could enjoy the more regulated temperatures of the 1PP facility.

Sarge refilled their drinks and began to lay out his strategy, which was consistent with the approach envisioned by the framers of the constitution.

“We are formulating a plan to drive the United Nations out of Boston and restore order using a combination of the Marines, and former law enforcement personnel. Local residents are looking to our people for support and are offering to help in the rebuilding effort.”

Morgan’s hand trembled slightly as he took another sip. Sarge couldn’t decide if it was the colder temperatures or the aftereffects of the stroke Morgan had suffered.

“You must think long term in this regard,” said Morgan. “The United States currency will have to be resurrected or replaced.”

“As you know, I’m a strong advocate of returning to the gold standard,” said Sarge. “Other nations will push back—especially the Chinese. Their monetary policy was built upon a house of cards as bad as the U.S. economy was.”

“It required a major catalyst to justify a period of instability while the gold standard was adopted,” added Morgan. “The virtue of a properly constructed gold standard is that it’s both stable and flexible. It will be stable in value but flexible enough to meet the marketplace’s natural need for money.”

“That brings me back to the local and then regional approach,” added Sarge. “Throughout New England, commerce is coming back based upon the traditional free market economy. Barter is the primary method of payment. At this point, U.S. currency is deemed worthless.”

“Henry, you must infuse capital into the economy in the form of gold and silver,” said Morgan. “When the dollar makes a return with newly minted Federal Reserve Notes backed by gold, you can gradually bring the gold out of the public’s possession in exchange for easily transported gold-backed currency.”

Sarge poured himself another glass, but Morgan waved his hand over his, declining a third drink.

“I can’t do anything until I reestablish the local government hierarchies,” said Sarge. “Once local and state governments are functioning, I will propose public-private partnerships for everything from security to the reconstruction of our power grid. This will insert gold and silver into the recovering economy on a local scale.”

“Excellent,” interrupted Morgan. “Bring New England back first and then spread its prosperity to other regions. What’s your first step?”

“Well, as I mentioned, we drive the UN out of Boston. In the meantime, we dismantle the Citizen Corps by taking O’Brien into custody. Also, I will meet with all of the governors of New England and assist them in reestablishing their governments.”

“Are you prepared to initiate the recovery mechanisms that I put into place?” asked Morgan.

Sarge had lost sleep over DARPA—the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency designed to coordinate technological innovations between the military and private defense contractors. The collapse of Washington and the inability to communicate took this option away. The concept was great on paper, but absolutely worthless in a grid-down America.

“RADICS is ready, with a few modifications,” replied Sarge. RADICS, an acronym for Rapid Attack Detection, Isolation and Characterization Systems, was designed to assist in the recovery efforts following a devastating cyber attack on our critical infrastructure. “From what we’ve been able to determine, there are no unaffected networks. Professor Andrew Lau and his Zero Day Gamers were very good at what they did. However, the advanced planning performed in the last couple of years should enable us to bring major metropolitan areas online in regions of our choosing.”

Morgan interrupted. “Julia tells me the President is undertaking this very thing on the West Coast.”

“That’s true. He is racing to establish electricity in the major port cities. I need to do the same in regions of the country that are interested in following the course for America that I envision. I believe our success in New England will breed success elsewhere.”

Morgan nodded his head and reached out from under the blanket to pat Sarge on the arm once again.

“Good, Henry. Isolate the President. His approach to markets and government won’t work. It never has. All of the country will follow your lead when they see your success.”

Chapter 6

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

7:00 a.m.

Downtown

Boston, Massachusetts

“Well, I guess we confirmed what we already knew,” started Second Lieutenant Mike Smalley as he wiped the blood off his military-issue M9 bayonet. He slipped it back into its scabbard tied around his leg. “O’Brien’s cleared out and is on the run.”

“Good work in there,” said Katie as she holstered her weapon. “That guy would’ve woken up the other worthless bastards if you hadn’t moved so quickly. Let’s go.”

Katie led them down the dark hallway toward the rear exit of 99 High Street, which had been the headquarters of the Citizen Corps governor James O’Brien for the last few months. After the ill-fated kidnapping of the Massachusetts legislature, the President disavowed the taking of hostages and removed O’Brien from office. Thus far, no replacement had been named.

Katie’s mission was to find Elkins, who had escaped during the melee at the State House that day. She really had no idea where to start. She met with any of the Mechanics who had contact with him and his pal Isaac Grant. Nobody knew any more about them than what was revealed during the secretive meetings of the Mechanics.

O’Brien had not returned home either. Katie had two teams rotating in and out of surveilling O’Brien’s residence. There had been no activity around the home, so last night, Katie and Smalley broke in and found it empty. They rifled through O’Brien’s belongings, searching for clues, hoping that a union roster or address book would yield a result. They left disappointed.

As the sun began to rise, Katie eased open the fire exit door, which led to High Street. She pulled her red Boston Red Sox cap out of her cargo pants pocket and affixed it to her head. Smalley followed suit. As part of their efforts to contain the United Nations forces at the Boston Seaport, Brad had stationed snipers throughout downtown Boston. The red cap was an indication to his Marines that the target was friendly.

“Ready?” asked Katie, adjusting her holstered weapon.

Smalley nodded. “It’s a couple of blocks to Summer Street. Then hang a right at the Bank of America, and then we’ve got another couple of blocks to Devonshire.”

“Stay low and use the parked cars as cover,” said Katie as she began to walk briskly alongside the deserted city street. “We can use the building entryways too.”

The cold wind blew paper debris down High Street into their path. They cautiously rounded the corner onto Summer Street until Katie could see the building that contained the offices of the Boston Carmen’s Union. A gust of wind blew Katie’s hat off her head, but Smalley quickly scooped it up like a shortstop deep in the hole.

Katie ducked into a pedestrian mall and gathered herself. All of the windows of a jewelry store were smashed, leaving only the remnants of signs featuring their high-end brands—Mikimoto, TAG Heuer, and Rolex. Katie felt Steven’s watch around her wrist. It gave her strength to continue.

The two darted down Summer Street until they could duck through the broken windows of a café directly across the street from the union’s local headquarters. Katie knew nothing about the interior layout of the building other than it comprised four floors and a lobby. One of the Mechanics thought there was an efficiency apartment on the top floor used by visiting union members.

“I don’t like the idea of going in here blind,” said Smalley.

“I don’t either, but it’s all we’ve got.” Katie suddenly stopped and crouched behind a restaurant booth next to the window. “Look, it’s O’Brien’s Caddy.”

Smalley rose up over the window ledge and confirmed the sighting. “That’s his car.”

“All right,” started Katie as she studied the open parking garage and the glass front entry door. “The garage entry appears to be solid steel. Unless we get lucky and it’s unlocked, we’ll have to bust out the glass at the front.”

“And,” interjected Smalley, “there’s probably a rear fire escape into an alley. We can’t cover them all.”

“We shouldn’t separate either,” said Katie. “Let’s try the garage entry first. Maybe there’s a key or opener in one of those four cars. Otherwise, we’ll break out the glass door in front, trying to keep the noise to a minimum.”

Katie thought of all the empty liquor bottles found in O’Brien’s home and office. She surmised he was a heavy drinker. At this early hour, she hoped he’d be passed out from another night of drinking—preferably alone.

They dashed across the street and stowed their Red Sox caps once they were safely in the garage. Katie doubted Brad had snipers this deep into the downtown area, but she didn’t plan on taking any chances of friendly fire.

The keyless steel security entry from the garage was locked, and they couldn’t locate the code in any of the vehicles. The front door was their only option. Smalley grabbed a four-way lug wrench out of a utility truck and tapped on the glass until it cracked. As quietly as possible, they removed the large shards of glass and slid underneath the push bar. They were in.

It was dark inside the windowless building as they pushed their way past the reception desk and toward the stairwell. The stale air and silence was eerie. Smalley tapped Katie on the shoulder, indicating for her to fall back. He switched on his pistol-mounted light and led the way up the dark stairway, which reeked of vomit. They reached the second floor.

“Okay, one floor at a time,” said Katie as the two pressed against the wall next to the door. “We’re looking for Elkins, but any live body will do. They might know something.”

“Got it. On my go,” instructed Smalley.

Katie nodded.

Smalley flung open the door and entered the room low and slow, hugging the wall as he moved to the right. The morning sun was peeking through the windows of this large, open gathering room. The space was filled with sofas, chairs, and side tables. It resembled a large cigar lounge in Las Vegas, complete with a bar, big-screen televisions, and audio-visual equipment.

They quietly made their way around the perimeter of the room, looking for any movement or sounds of life. After checking both bathrooms and a small kitchen area, Katie was satisfied that this floor was clear.

The two never spoke through the entire process, utilizing hand signals and body language to indicate their intended movements. Smalley nodded at Katie and the two reentered the stairwell. On the third floor, they followed the same routine except this time they had to clear almost a dozen offices. They entered each room forcefully to catch any occupants off guard. One by one, they found the offices empty.

The final stop, an employee break room, had been vandalized or rummaged through by someone. Vending machines were broken into and anything edible was taken out. The only things left behind were the bags of Twizzlers. Katie snatched them out of the spiral holder and stuffed them in her pants’ pocket.

“Okay,” said Katie in a hushed voice. “If he’s here, this will be our last chance. Let’s take him alive.”

The stairs continued up to the roof. Katie took a moment to climb to the top and check the exit to the top of the Devonshire Building. Katie opened it and glanced around the roof, looking for any signs of life or an alternative exit from the building. She returned to Smalley and shook her head.

“This time, we’ll roll right like before,” started Katie, “but I’m gonna lay behind you several feet. The fire exit to the building is to our left. If he makes a run for it, I’ll chase him down. He’s a big guy, right?”

“Yeah,” said Smalley, who opened the door and entered the hallway.

Immediately in front of them was an oak-adorned conference room with a long table in the center. Bookshelves and portraits of past union leaders covered the walls. An empty bottle of scotch and two glasses sat on the table.

After clearing the room, Katie picked up one of the glasses and pointed out a ring of water on the table. The humidity in the building had caused the previously filled glass to sweat, leaving the moisture on the table’s top.

Both of them immediately raised their awareness and quickly moved down the hall toward a large living area. Another bar, furniture, and a large-screen television filled the otherwise unoccupied room. Katie saw an open laptop on a coffee table and moved toward it when she kicked an empty liquor bottle along the floor until it rested against a table leg with a thud.

Smalley crouched to one knee and Katie froze, listening for any noise. For several tense moments, the two held their breath and waited.

Click.

Katie wasn’t sure her mind comprehended the sound. Then it registered. It was the same sound the attic door had made when she’d eased it shut a short time ago. She swung her arm around and patted Smalley on the shoulder. She worked her way down the hallway, pointing her weapon at every opening.

“Check the roof exit,” she instructed Smalley. “I’ll take the rear fire exit.”

Smalley nodded and flipped his weapon’s light back on as he cautiously entered the stairwell. Katie moved quickly down the hall. She had to clear the bedroom first. It stank of cigars, urine, and liquor. O’Brien was a pig, but there was no time to pass judgment.

She found the fire escape door and burst onto the landing overlooking the back alleyway. She welcomed the fresh air, and the sound of O’Brien’s heavy frame lumbering down the metal stairs.

Katie chased O’Brien down the exterior fire escape. Katie knew she was gaining on him because she could hear his heavy feet pounding the metal steps.

Boink-boink.

O’Brien was unlocking a car below. The sound of a door slamming and the engine starting signified to Katie that she had to hurry. He’s getting away!

She began to take the stairs two at a time, causing Katie to lose her balance and crash into the safety rail. Katie heard the sounds of tires squealing as a black sedan roared through the alley toward Otis Street.

Katie opened fire, hitting the rear of the trunk lid, causing it to fling open. From above, Smalley rained a volley of rounds, which missed the mark. O’Brien screeched to a halt and then gunned the sedan, turning right down a narrow side street.

Katie descended the remaining stairs, hit the pavement, stumbled, and rolled back onto her feet. She raced to the corner of the alley and without hesitation burst into the open. All she saw was the trunk lid waving up and down as if to say good-bye as O’Brien sped off.

Chapter 7

Sunday, November 20, 2016

11:30 a.m.

Downtown

Boston, Massachusetts

Snow flurries began to fall and swirled through Boston’s abandoned skyscrapers, creating a post-apocalyptic snow globe. Brad considered the prospects of a harsh winter on the people of the city who’d survived so far. He’d learned years ago that a person could only survive three hours without shelter in extreme conditions. Boston’s coastal weather was somewhat warmer in the coldest month of January as opposed to other inland Massachusetts locations. But when your body was undernourished and the twenty-degree nights of winter soaked into your bones, death by hypothermia could come quickly.

Gunny Falcone returned the high-powered binoculars to Brad, who once again studied the UN’s encampment at the Seaport. He had scheduled a meeting with General Zhang to discuss the withdrawal of the UN troops from Boston. Brad was distrustful of Zhang and had always had a disdain for the United Nations. Between his encounters with Zhang’s men at Fort Devens and the debacle at the State House, Brad’s senses were on high alert.

“Sir,” said Falcone, “no vehicles have been observed coming or going across the remaining bridges in hours. We detained three of their patrols that ventured out towards Newton and Woodland. Per your orders, sir, they will not be returning to the Seaport.”

“Good,” said Brad. “I want Zhang to become concerned about defections. If all of his patrols are taken into custody and fail to return, he’ll stop the incursions into our city.”

“We need access to the Ted Williams Tunnel if we’re going to gain control of Logan, sir.”

“That will depend upon Zhang,” said Brad. “He can make life easier on everyone if he’d just pull up stakes and leave.”

“Who’s he taking orders from at this point?” asked Falcone.

Brad studied the Seaport once again and saw Zhang’s vehicle lead a three-Humvee procession across the Seaport Boulevard bridge and right onto Atlantic Avenue. The two men were scheduled to meet at noon in the center of Christopher Columbus Waterfront Park. After the meeting was set, Brad immediately sent teams to the adjacent buildings on Long Wharf and the Commercial Wharf complex to secure the perimeter. Brad preferred an open meeting space, as long as his men occupied the high ground surrounding the location.

“Let’s meet this general,” said Brad as he handed the binoculars back to Falcone.

They bounded down the stairwell of the Boston Marriott until they reached the lobby. Two Marines awaited his arrival and advised Brad that the meeting appeared to be secure. Brad took a deep breath, adjusted his Kevlar vest, and walked into the cold November day.

Snow flurries swirled in the air around him as Brad walked down the brick paver walkway toward the frozen-over water fountain. Once a favorite spot of downtown brown-baggers at lunchtime, the circular fountain area was now occupied by turned-over trash cans and wilted plant material.

General Zhang’s five-foot-six frame surprised Brad. Despite his advanced age, the general appeared to be unfazed by the unseasonably cold fall day. He stood stoic, alone, waiting for his nemesis.

Brad, despite the adversarial circumstances, intended to treat Zhang with respect. Brad approached the man and extended his hand. Zhang stepped to meet Brad and shook his hand, with a slight bow. “I am Major General Zhang Wei.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Bradlee.”

“Colonel, my forces are in an awkward situation here in your city. I am still operating under orders from Geneva to serve the governor of this region, James O’Brien. O’Brien has not contacted me since November eighth. His liaison, Mr. Pearson, is also nowhere to be found.”

“I have an idea, General,” said Brad. “You can pack up your men and equipment and sail back to Europe.”

“I cannot leave without the proper orders,” replied the general.

“May I suggest this, General. Order your men to stand down during your occupation of the Seaport. No more patrols, and no hostilities on American soil. Once your orders come through, then you can leave peacefully.”

General Zhang stood a little taller in his boots. “No, I have orders to secure this city. I must do my duty until informed otherwise.”

Brad stared at the man, who was easily a foot shorter than he. He had to admire a soldier who held his ground when all the events surrounding his command pointed to the contrary. Brad also knew that sometimes soldiers could make decisions that were smarter than the orders they’d been given. He decided to give it one last try.

“General, you are on foreign soil as an occupying military force. On behalf of the people of Boston and Massachusetts, I urge you to reconsider. I will give you ten days to leave our country.”

General Zhang turned and walked away without providing Brad a response.

Chapter 8

Sunday, November 20, 2016

5:34 a.m.

Massachusetts General Hospital

Boston, Massachusetts

“I really wish you’d stay in the car, Jim,” said Marion La Rue as the two men led a couple of their associates up a back stairwell at Massachusets General Hospital. “There are still wounded people being treated from the State House shooting. Somebody might recognize you.”

“I wanna see this guy for myself,” said O’Brien. “I thought he was supposed to be released three weeks ago. What happened?”

“He started having complications in his bones and joints,” replied La Rue. “I guess some of the deep burns limited his ability to move his legs. Something about scar tissue shortening his muscles and tendons.”

“So he can’t walk?” asked O’Brien.

“Right. He requires a wheelchair. Ordinarily, he would be sent to a rehab center where they would take care of him, but there’s nothing like that anymore.”

“Well, provide him all the rehab he needs,” said O’Brien. “The boys with us are stout. They’ll carry the man out of here. How much can he weigh if he got burned up, right?”

La Rue shook his head and motioned to a door at the top floor of the stairwell. All of the men were breathing heavily. Somehow, during the first ninety days of the collapse, they’d managed to remain overweight. They stopped to catch their breath. O’Brien relaxed and then placed his right hand on his old friend’s shoulder.

“Marion, there are people who are trying to take me out. They sent hired guns after me! I need insurance, and this professor may be the means to keep me alive another day, or even get my job back.”

“Pearson said the President was done with—” started La Rue before O’Brien snapped back.

“I don’t give a fuck what Pearson says. He’s run off anyway. I have a feeling this professor fuck is my ticket back to runnin’ things. Now, let’s quit talkin’ and lead the way.”

The top floor was deserted, as it was reserved for patients in some form of rehabilitation. La Rue hadn’t checked on the status of Professor Andrew Lau in over a week, but based upon his last report, he assured O’Brien that the man was still there.

La Rue approached the nurses’ station and asked about the location of Lau’s room. The nurse immediately protested La Rue’s presence in the hospital at the early hour and demanded that he leave. In turn, La Rue pulled a revolver out of his coat pocket and pointed it at the nurse’s head. He demanded answers and she quickly complied.

While O’Brien’s men tied the nurse up in a linen closet, he and La Rue found Lau sleeping alone in a room near the far end of the hallway. La Rue took the lead and approached Lau’s bed. He placed his meaty hand over Lau’s mouth and then pointed the revolver at his face. Lau awoke with a jolt and his eyes got big when he saw the gun. He thrashed for a moment until La Rue spoke.

“Professor, we’re not here to hurt you. Do you understand?”

Lau nodded his head affirmatively.

La Rue quickly concocted a lie. “This gentlemen with me is Governor James O’Brien. We have information that leads us to believe that your life is in danger. Do you understand what I’m saying, Professor Lau?”

Again, Lau nodded his head and his eyes darted from O’Brien to La Rue.

“If I remove my hand, will you remain quiet so we can get you to safety?”

Lau once again nodded his head, indicating yes. Once La Rue moved his hand, Lau said, “Thank you for coming. I have seen the man responsible for this. I’ve been afraid ever since.”

O’Brien’s men entered the room and one of them whispered in his ear. O’Brien turned his attention to La Rue and Lau. “Marion, we have to go. It’s almost six a.m. There might be a shift change or something.”

“Okay, pick him up, fellows. Let’s find this patient a new place to rehab.”

Chapter 9

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

8:00 p.m.

Prescott Peninsula, 1PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Thanksgiving was a uniquely American tradition since the beginning of the republic when President George Washington declared the fourth Thursday in November as a day of public thanksgiving and prayer. It was a holiday based upon America’s founding as a Christian nation.

After the date was established by President Abraham Lincoln’s proclamation during the Civil War, Thanksgiving Day was designed to transcend the political quarrels over the role of religion in the governance of our nation. While the Constitution might formally separate church and state, religion and politics, by their nature, propped each other up.

On this evening before Thanksgiving, Sarge reflected on his new role as head of the Boston Brahmin. He was uniquely situated to have an impact on the course of America in matters of significant importance like national security and global economics. He also hoped to change the course of those societal issues that some might consider insignificant.

At Harvard, and in his New York Times bestselling book—Choose Freedom or Capitulation: America’s Sovereignty Crisis, Sarge frequently discussed the decline of social morals and values and the impact it had on the nation’s future. He pointed to history, as depicted by his beloved series of paintings created by Thomas Cole called The Course of Empire. He would draw parallels between the rise and fall of the Roman Empire and the United States.

Despite America’s incredible advancements in knowledge and technology, it was actually a nation in decline morally. Just like the early stages of the collapse of the Roman Empire, which most historians attributed to the decline in the Romans’ morals and values, Sarge believed America was suffering a similar fate.

One such example was the celebration of Thanksgiving. The common story of Thanksgiving, celebrated in elementary schools across the country, was a tale of the perseverance of Pilgrims and of cooperation and common thanks between two different peoples who had been, until the early 1600s, worlds apart. It was one of the stories that defined us as Americans. Sarge believed civilizations needed accounts of historical significance to serve as a connective tissue, helping the successes of our Founding Fathers endure.

Over the past fifty years, Thanksgiving had diminished in importance as Christmas commercialism had expanded. Since the early 1960s, Christmas media programming had steadily expanded into November. Soon, Black Friday became the most celebrated day of the year as shoppers across the country flooded the malls in search of sales, sometimes as early as 4:00 a.m.

But even that wasn’t good enough for the consumers who demanded bargains. Their zest for a deal encouraged large retailers to open their doors on Thanksgiving Day. While Sarge knew that American capitalism would always be blamed for this expansion of the Christmas shopping season, he always reminded people that capitalism, by its nature, was a stimulated response to consumer demand. The American consumer insisted upon earlier and earlier shopping, and capitalism delivered.

The meaning of Thanksgiving and its diminished role as a revered holiday in America was responsible in part for Americans’ willingness to forego giving thanks for what they had in exchange for what they wanted. The history of Thanksgiving was gradually rewritten by an increasingly liberal public school system.

The story of the immigrant Pilgrims and the native Indians who came together from two different cultures to give thanks was abandoned. Immigrant Pilgrims, as a historical fact, was replaced with a description of genocidal, white Europeans who ravaged the pristine lands of North America. The term Indians was no longer politically correct, and Native Americans was considered appropriate for the victims of the evil white Europeans who invited these people to dinner and then killed them before stealing their land, as pop-culture icon Jon Stewart once said.

Just as Thanksgiving Day became inundated with televised football games, the concept of the holiday as a day to give thanks became a political football. Thanksgiving was no longer a day when the American people came together and gratefully acknowledged their health and opportunities with one heart and one voice.

Sarge hoped to change that, among other things. At precisely 8:00 p.m., Sarge addressed the nation via the Digital Carrier Pigeon, the network of ham radios and repeaters that carried his message of hope and renewal throughout the nation.

“My fellow Americans, I’m speaking with you on this eve of the first Thanksgiving of this nation’s troubled times. All of us have lost loved ones and family, including myself. Our hopes and dreams have been dashed. Our resolve has been challenged. But if you are hearing my voice, you’re a survivor.

“As survivors, it is time for us to come together in the spirit of cooperation and thanks indicative of those first Thanksgiving meals between our ancestors and the early inhabitants of America. All of us have it within ourselves to survive and help our fellow man at the same time.

“This spirit of giving has been ingrained in the American psyche from the days of the Pilgrims until today. Thanksgiving has always been a day when Americans extend a helping hand to the less fortunate. Americans have always understood that one must give in order to receive. That is who we are as a nation.

“In these frightening and trying times, we should all search our hearts and we should reflect on what we can do to demonstrate our thanks and give back to our nation. My brother made the ultimate sacrifice for the freedoms we enjoy, and soon, I will call on you to consider the same.

“I have always believed that America is set apart from other nations in an uncommon way. I believe a divine plan was in mind for our great country and all of us who have a special love for freedom.

“The challenges we face are many, and the choices we have are few. Push negativity and strife out of your minds. I ask all of you to give thanks for your life, the love of your family, and the opportunities we have ahead as a freedom-loving country.”

Sarge became emotional as he continued. Damn it, we will return this country to its glory.

“Join me, fellow patriots, with gratitude and thanksgiving in your hearts, and join me in repeating these moving lines from ‘America the Beautiful.’”

He softly sang the song, which was written atop the pinnacle of Pikes Peak in 1893 by Katharine Lee Bates. Despite the tragedy inflicted upon her, America was still beautiful and worthy of these words.

O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!

“Choose freedom, my friends, and God bless America! Happy Thanksgiving!”

Chapter 10

Thanksgiving Day

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Noon

Prescott Peninsula, 1PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

“Sarge, your speech last evening was simply wonderful,” said Julia’s aunt, Stella Peabody, as she stretched her tiny frame to receive a kiss on the cheek from a puzzled Sarge.

“Wait, you heard it?” asked Sarge.

“We all did,” chimed in Constance Lowell, who surrounded Sarge with her friends Millicent Winthrop and Mary Cabot.

Julia stood quietly to the side and tried to imagine the day when she would be an old biddy.

“How were you guys listening in?” asked Sarge as he scanned the room, obviously looking for Julia. He didn’t think to look behind him, where she proudly enjoyed the interaction.

“Julia recorded it,” replied Mary Cabot. “We played it this morning as we started preparing the Thanksgiving meal. It was very moving, young man.”

“Thank you, ladies. I appreciate your kind words, but I spoke from the heart. My singing voice probably could be improved upon.”

Constance Lowell gave Sarge an impromptu hug. Initially, the days at 1PP were difficult for her. Sarge’s suspicions regarding Mrs. Lowell’s prior knowledge of the cyber attack were true. It was a challenge for her to transition from the wealthiest woman in Boston to the resident of a small bungalow in the middle of nowhere. However, the feeling of safety she enjoyed and the constant companionship of her husband, Lawrence, seemed to help her overcome any resentment she fostered.

“Come along, Constance,” started Mary Cabot. “I see a lot of hungry faces in here ready for their Thanksgiving dinner.”

Sarge accepted a couple of additional hugs and then was left alone, until Julia reached around his waist and surprised him.

“There you are,” said Sarge as he turned to embrace her. “I was looking for you.”

“I know,” said Julia. “I was right behind you the whole time. I see you have some admirers.”

Sarge laughed and kissed her. “Apparently so. At least four anyway. Although I think my singing career is over before it started.”

“Um, yeah. Good thing too. Maybe, at the Christmas address, you can skip the carols, okay?”

Sarge brushed Julia’s hair behind her ear and she leaned her cheek into his hand. She loved his gentle touch with her. He touched her stomach and smiled.

“How is this entire department doing today?” he asked, referring to the baby and her morning sickness.

The smell of cooking filled the air. Thank goodness her morning sickness had begun to taper off in the last week or so. By her estimates, she was now ten to eleven weeks pregnant. She considered herself lucky.

Julia had successfully hidden her pregnancy from everyone. Donald and Susan knew, as well as J.J., her Armageddon obstetrician. Susan was giddy with excitement and was constantly doting over Julia. Because they wanted to wait to tell everyone, Julia tried to tamp down Susan’s enthusiasm somewhat.

In reality, Susan was a huge help. She set aside all of the healthy fruit juices in their food pantry. Because fresh milk was not available, she substituted powdered milk and protein shakes. Of course, Julia drank lots of water. Susan established a diet designed to supplement Julia with the proper vitamins and minerals. Since Julia had confided in her, Susan had become Julia’s constant companion. She was more like a sister than ever before.

“The good thing is the morning sickness seems to have run its course. The baby, however, seems to be up to something. I can feel a fluttering in my stomach from time to time.”

“Maybe it’s flying.”

Julia playfully gave Sarge a couple of double-fisted slugs to the chest. “Our child will not have wings, nor will it ever fly anywhere.”

“Whadya gonna do, tie it to a tree?”

“Henry Sargent,” whispered Julia, partially growling under her breath, “I’m pregnant, somewhat emotional, but at times capable of extreme volatility. Do not test me, mister.”

Donald and J.J. entered through the front doors, carrying platters of deer and turkey meat, which had been cooked over an open flame. Julia turned her attention to them, sparing Sarge from her further admonishments.

“Wow, look at all of this,” said Sarge hungrily. “You did all of this over the fire?”

“Absolutely,” replied Donald. “Better than a caveman could do, I might add. Of course, I had the assistance of my renowned surgeon, who expertly prepared the meats for easier cooking.”

Sarge patted J.J. on the back. “Well done, Dr. Warren.”

“Not quite. I’d say its more like medium well.”

The group laughed. Donald went on to explain how they prepared the turkey. J.J. and Donald had created a meat rub made up of a variety of seasonings, keeping Julia’s pregnancy in mind, of course. They’d covered the skin with olive oil, the seasonings, and then filled the turkey with boxed stuffing stored as part of their preparedness activities last summer.

As part of his preps, Donald had purchased cheesecloth for a variety of purposes. The primary reason was for water filtration. 1PP had a gutter and downspout system that emptied into large barrels positioned at each corner of the building. Before the rainwater reached the barrel, it was strained to remove any debris by the cheesecloth.

Cheesecloth also had a variety of medicinal uses, and it could be incorporated into camo netting, assist in insect prevention, and used for fishing.

In addition to sealing in the moisture of the turkey with the cheesecloth, Donald had wrapped the meat in several layers of heavy-duty aluminum foil. This protected the turkey as it cooked on top of the hot coals.

“Donald, we’re ready for you,” shouted Aunt Stella from the kitchen.

“Duty calls,” said Donald as he and J.J. proceeded with the guests of honor to join the rest of the Thanksgiving fixin’s.

Julia noticed that Abbie was standing alone, staring out the window. Julia had a hunch and decided to speak with her.

“Honey,” she said to Sarge, gently patting him on the chest, “why don’t you join the boys and enjoy a glass of wine. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Sarge kissed her again and whispered in Julia’s ear, “I love you.”

“I love you back.”

Julia approached Abbie, being careful not to startle her. She appeared deep in thought.

“Abbie,” said Julia quietly with the intention of announcing herself, “you know, it’s too early to start watching for Santa Claus to arrive.”

Abbie started laughing as she turned to Julia. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffled a little.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” asked Julia.

Abbie chuckled and wiped a few more tears. “I’m gonna miss Black Friday.”

Julia laughed out loud. “The shoe department at Saks Fifth Avenue.”

“We’re gonna miss Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin,” said Abbie.

“And Prada,” added Julia, who began to shed a few tears in solidarity.

The two women, who’d both loved Sarge in their lifetimes, were having a moment and hugged each other. Jealousy over Abbie’s past relationship with Sarge never crossed Julia’s mind. She and Abbie had become closer after the cyber attack.

“How absurd were we?” asked Abbie rhetorically. “I would trade all the shoes in my closet and all the stupid Black Friday shopping expeditions for just one thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Julia.

“Oh, Julia,” she started to reply, “the one thing I can’t have—Drew.”

Julia didn’t know what to say. The uncertainty surrounding the events at Camp Blanding had weighed on Abbie’s mind for weeks. When she finally realized that Drew was warning her about Morgan’s involvement in the cyber attack, she was crushed.

The revelation also set into motion a series of events that resulted in Morgan’s stroke and the promotion of Sarge to the head of the Boston Brahmin. Arguably, the same events possibly resulted in the death of Steven. Julia tried not to stretch too much when connecting these dots, but all of these things had bothered Abbie in the last couple of weeks.

“Abbie, I know you miss him terribly. We don’t know for certain what happened. Florida is a long way from here. He may have gone to Tennessee. He may be recovering from his injuries. Please don’t assume the worst.”

Abbie managed a smile as a few more tears rolled down her cheeks. “I know, Julia. I’ve held out hope this entire time. I want to believe that he’s okay. But the beating was—”

She began crying again and Julia tried to comfort her by holding her tight. Julia pulled away and wiped Abbie’s tears with her shirt sleeve.

“Now you listen to me, Abbie Morgan,” started Julia. Julia took Abbie’s hand and placed it over her heart. “Do you feel your heart beating?”

Abbie sniffled and answered, “Yeah.”

“Missing Drew is hard. Whenever you do, I want you to place your hand over your heart like this. Do you feel that?”

Abbie nodded and provided a muffled yes.

“That is your beating heart. Your life. That’s called purpose. You’re alive because of Drew. You’re alive for a reason. Don’t give up on Drew or yourself.”

“Okay,” sniffled Abbie, who immediately gave Julia a hug. “Thank you, Julia.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Abbie. Sisters, right?”

“Yeah, sisters.”

The commotion coming from the kitchen indicated that dinner was being served. Donald and J.J. led the procession with the turkey and deer, followed by the Boston Brahmin matriarchs carrying bowls of canned vegetables and boxed stuffing. A post-collapse Thanksgiving really wasn’t that much different as long as you stored the right foods and had the ability to hunt.

Around the large open living area of 1PP, all of the Boston Brahmin and the Loyal Nine took their seats at the table. Even the proverbial kids’ table was set up for Rebecca and Penny Quinn, and their welcomed guest—Katie.

The sounds of folding chairs sliding on the floor and jovial conversation filled the air alongside the smells of Thanksgiving. John Morgan took his seat at the head of the table. To his right, Sarge slid into the chair and Julia sat next to him. To Morgan’s left, the chair and place setting remained empty in honor of Steven.

The group gradually quieted, allowing Morgan, with his still-weakened voice, to speak. “Henry, would you do us the honor of saying the Thanksgiving blessing.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Sarge as he reached for Julia’s hand and gently squeezed it. Everyone bowed their heads and took each other’s hands.

“We thank you, Father, for having created us and given us to each other as family. Thank you for being with us in all our joys and sorrows, for your comfort in our sadness, and your companionship in our losses.

“We thank you for our friends and family, for our health and our blessings. We ask that you send help to those who are hungry, alone, sick, and suffering. We open our hearts to your love and ask your blessing through Christ your son. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Morgan spoke again. His tired, raspy voice managed the words, “Thank you, Henry. For the first time, we’re all together. Husbands, wives, and friends. Let us vow that this tradition will never be taken for granted and shall continue for the rest of our years.”

“Toast!” said Lowell, who raised his glass to salute the proclamation.

Glasses clinked and silverware dug into the meal. The customary acclamations were made throughout dinner.

“This turkey is excellent.”

“I love the baked apples, Aunt Stella.”

“This is my first taste of deer meat. I had no idea.”

“How about another drink, Cabot old man?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, Lowell!”

The sounds of laughter and conversation filled 1PP. The sounds of family.

Sarge whispered to Julia, “Whadya think?”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She replied with a smile and a nod.

Sarge stood and clinked his wineglass with his spoon. He lifted it into the air as everyone gave him their attention.

“I,” started Sarge, and then he looked down at Julia and smiled. She could feel herself blushing. “We have something we’d like to share with all of you.”

They all gave Sarge their undivided attention.

He continued. “Julia and I are going to have a baby!”

The room erupted with laughter and praise. Morgan grabbed Sarge by the hand and shook it repeatedly as he produced the biggest smile Sarge had ever seen on his godfather and mentor. Shouts of congratulations came from the men and I knew it from the biddies. It was a touching moment, which caused all of the women to burst out in tears as they came to hug Julia.

Then Cabot and Lowell started singing and were quickly joined by their fellow Boston Brahmin.

And this is good old Boston,

The home of the bean and the cod,

Where the Lowells talk only to Cabots,

And the Cabots talk only to God.

Julia knew that one day the story of the Boston Brahmin would be written. But they would not be remembered in history books or documentaries, as no one would believe it. Their account would most likely be the storyline of a fictional work.

After this Thanksgiving, Julia hoped the narrative would accurately reflect that all of them were family.

PART TWO

December 2016

Chapter 11

Saturday, December 3, 2016

10:00 p.m.

Chesterfield Street

Hyde Park Neighborhood

Boston, Massachusetts

After O’Brien eluded them, Katie and Smalley returned to the offices of the Boston Carmen’s Union. They spent all night rifling through file cabinets, ledgers, and union members’ files, looking for clues as to the whereabouts of Elkins and any of O’Brien’s trusted associates.

In his haste to escape, O’Brien had left everything behind, including a small spiral notepad featuring the Boston Bruins logo emblazoned on the cover. There were copious notes and corresponding dates from the time of his appointment until the day of the attempted prisoner swap. After November eighth, it appeared O’Brien was no longer interested in keeping this personal diary.

At dawn the next day, Katie instructed Smalley to retrieve their vehicle and bring back a truck. Smalley returned within hours, and every piece of paper and computer device on the premises was loaded for delivery to 100 Beacon.

Katie and Smalley worked continuously, rifling through the paperwork and, after powering up the computer devices, searching every conceivable file for clues. They both agreed the name Marion La Rue held some significance. His name was contained throughout O’Brien’s diary and appeared in several hidden files Katie found on O’Brien’s smartphone.

Katie immediately dispatched a team to La Rue’s home address on Chesterfield Street in Boston’s southernmost neighborhood of Hyde Park. This part of the city was developed along the Neponset River in the late seventeenth century. Unlike its adjoining neighborhoods of Mattapan, Dorchester, and Roxbury, Hyde Park remained relatively stable socially and economically. Its saltbox-style homes were stacked closely together and were all similar in design.

Two nights ago, Katie and Smalley had set up a surveillance operation across the street from La Rue’s home at 108 Chesterfield Street. Their view of the house was obscured by a FedCorp van. FedCorp was a general contractor that performed underground utility installations throughout greater Boston. A large trench had been opened up at the intersection of Edson Street. An abandoned Boston PD cruiser blocked access to the temporary dead-end, leaving vehicular traffic only one means of escape.

As she arrived for the third night of watching the home, she was beginning to lose hope that this lead was of any value. Her research into the union files provided her nothing on Elkins. The only possible reference was a cryptic note written in O’Brien’s diary, which read R. E.—Mass—OH. This entry was part of seven others similar to it. Katie surmised O’Brien was making a list of people for some specific purpose. She and Smalley ran several scenarios back and forth but couldn’t pin down the meaning.

Katie’s mind was wandering as a glimmer of light caught her eye in a window several homes away from La Rue’s. “Smalley, did you see that?”

“No. What?” he replied.

“The house on the corner. It’s hard to see it from here, but I swear I saw a light flicker in one of its windows. Let’s go check it out.”

“Why? It’s not the house we want,” objected Smalley.

“Doesn’t matter,” replied Katie. “If there is a warm body in there, they might have seen something or know more about La Rue. Let’s go.”

They quickly worked their way down the sidewalk, using parked cars for cover. The small four-thousand-square-foot lots required all of the homes to be packed close together and in close proximity to the street. In two days of surveillance, none of the teams who took shifts reported activity in any of the homes. Despite the apparent abandonment of the street, Katie wasn’t going to take any chances of being mistaken for a looter. Each time they moved closer to the target house, she stopped and made sure they weren’t detected.

They reached the intersection and Katie led them down Farrin Street so they could get a look at the back of the home at 102 Chesterfield. The house was a two-story structure with white aluminum siding. A small room addition had been added with a cedar deck that led into the backyard. The sky was clear and the full moon provided her a perfect view of the rear entry. Like the surrounding homes, the cold weather had killed much of the plant material. There was little or no cover for them to use if they approached the home.

Katie shuddered as the below-freezing night air began to settle into her body. She chose the evening to conduct her surveillance because she knew O’Brien to be a heavy drinker. If she needed to surprise him, it was better to allow him to get inebriated before she overtook him.

“Look,” said Smalley. “The sliding glass door just opened. Someone is coming out.”

Katie crouched behind a Buick that was parked half on and half off the sidewalk. They were close enough to hear the sound of a lighter being used. Then she heard the distinctive sound of the male species relieving his bladder in the grass.

“He’s taking a leak,” said Smalley.

“Yeah, no shit,” said Katie. “Is that cigar smoke?”

“I think so.”

“That’s O’Brien. He’s moved locations. I wonder—”

The sound of a large plastic recycle bin crashing down the deck stairs prompted several dogs to begin barking and an angry response from O’Brien.

“Fucking thing!”

Katie used the distraction as an opportunity to raise her head and get a better look. It is O’Brien!

“He’s not getting away this time,” said Katie. “I don’t like splitting up, but last time, sticking together didn’t work out so well.”

“This is probably his car,” said Smalley. Katie pulled out her SureFire flashlight and illuminated the front seat. An empty liquor bottle and a carton of cigarettes lay on the passenger side. She looked around the dash for the keys. Bingo! She tried the door handle and it was unlocked. After carefully removing the keys, she pushed the door shut.

“He may have another car down the street,” said Katie.

“I know what you’re saying about splitting up, Katie,” started Smalley. “But we could easily shoot each other in a dark, unfamiliar house. I like my chances of chasing fat boy down in the street better than us potentially taking each other out with friendly fire.”

Katie thought for a moment and realized he was right. Sarge’s insistence that O’Brien be kept alive was not lost on her. She didn’t want to disappoint Sarge further. Besides, O’Brien was her only lead to Elkins.

Katie tapped Smalley on the arm as they rose in unison and ran around the car, approaching the deck in a low crouch. The barking dogs continued but didn’t raise alarms with O’Brien. If anything, the dogs provided them some cover as a distraction.

Katie remained hidden behind the house’s exterior wall as she gently opened the sliding glass door. She ducked her head in quickly and found the open sitting room to be empty.

“Hurry, we don’t want the cold air coming in to alert him,” she whispered to Smalley. The two entered the room and took flanking positions against the side walls. The smell of cigar smoke floated through the hallway to the main house.

“Gin, asshole,” came a voice from a room down the short corridor.

“Fucker, are you kidding me? Already?” said another male voice.

Katie realized they were playing cards. The flicker of a candle flashing through the hallway emanated from a room just to her right. It was probably the kitchen. Tension filled the air as she indicated to Smalley to remain still and listen. She wanted to take a moment to get her bearings and assess the situation. She strained to hear voices or activity from other people.

The laughter and conversation between the two men continued as they shuffled and started a new hand. Katie, satisfied that these two men were the only ones awake, decided to make her move. She could see Smalley’s face in the soft glow of the candle’s reflection. She used hand signals to indicate for him to follow her and take the occupant on the left side of the room. She’d take the right side. It was time.

She inched along the hallway wall until she reached the kitchen opening. She readied her sidearm and burst into the room.

“Don’t move!”

The man on the left quickly picked up a revolver and attempted to point it at her. In that split second, she had to make an assessment. If the man was O’Brien, she couldn’t kill him. He was more important and useful alive.

The human brain could interpret images that the eye saw in just thirteen milliseconds. The processing power of the brain was unsurpassed by even the most powerful computers. Katie’s brain performed an astonishing number of calculations during those milliseconds before she fired her weapon, instantly killing the man holding the gun. He wasn’t holding the cigar.

Smalley entered the room behind her too late to assist. O’Brien dropped the cigar and pushed his chair back away from the table, which held the blood-soaked head of Marion La Rue.

“Don’t move,” ordered Katie. She turned her attention to Smalley. “Check out the rest of the downstairs.”

“You stupid bitch, we would’ve given you something to eat,” said O’Brien. “In fact, we could’ve had a little party, you know.”

The burning candle began to singe La Rue’s hair, so Katie moved it to the side while keeping her weapon trained on O’Brien. Smalley returned and told her the downstairs was clear. Then, the sound of a moving piece of furniture above them grabbed Katie’s attention.

“How many others are in the house?” demanded Katie, sticking the gun closer to O’Brien’s chest.

He raised his hands and pushed his chair farther away until it struck the kitchen cabinets. “Just one more, I swear. C’mon, take it easy. We can work this out. I’ve got money and some food. Really, just put—”

“Shut up!” said Katie in a hushed tone. “On the ground, face down! Now!”

O’Brien complied and Smalley placed his knee in O’Brien’s back while he quickly pulled the man’s chubby arms behind him. Smalley inserted O’Brien’s wrists into a set of disposable restraints and pulled the locking clip tight.

“Watch him,” she instructed Smalley as she made her way toward the stairs. The noise came from the room directly above the kitchen, so Katie would start there.

“Run,” screamed O’Brien from the kitchen. His exclamation was followed by the sound of Smalley kicking O’Brien in the side, knocking the air out of him.

Katie heard a chair tip over and the sound of a window latch being turned. She didn’t have much time, but she had to be careful. Hiding behind the doorjamb, she turned the knob and flung it open. All Katie could see was the silhouette of a man about to exit through the window, who abruptly stopped at the sound of her entering the room.

“Stop! Hands up! Do you hear me? Now!” shouted Katie at the dark figure cowering in the corner.

“Yes, okay. I don’t have a gun. Please don’t shoot me.”

“Turn around slowly,” said Katie as she raised her flashlight from the floor upwards, scanning for weapons. “What’s your name?”

As the light reached the man’s face, Katie had her answer before he spoke it.

“Andrew Lau.”

Chapter 12

Monday, December 5, 2016

Noon

New Hampshire State House

Concord, New Hampshire

Sarge and Brad stood beneath the massive marble arch entry to the New Hampshire State House’s grounds on a cold but sunny day. Surrounded by military personnel from the 157th Air Refueling Wing, Sarge was deep in conversation with Boston native Governor Maggie Hassan of New Hampshire.

“Governor, I want to thank you again for the opportunity to speak with your legislature and the executive branches present from both Maine and Vermont,” said Sarge.

“Of course, Mr. Sargent,” started Governor Hassan. “Our politics may have differed prior to this debacle, but it is clear you and I have the same goals—helping the people of New England.”

“We have a plan ready to be implemented that will require the cooperation of local and state government leaders,” said Sarge. “I spoke with Governor Baker in Boston before I left. As you know, much of his legislature was either killed or wounded on Election Day. Massachusetts will be reeling from that tragedy for many years.”

“Courage to persevere rises out of tragedy when you need it the most,” said Governor Hassan. “New Englanders will come together to help each other and survive until our nation recovers.”

Sarge was approached by Maine governor Paul LePage and his wife, Ann. The two looked like they had walked out of an L.L. Bean catalog.

“Mr. Sargent, I’m Governor LePage from Maine. This is my wife, Ann.” Everyone shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“It’s nice to meet you, Governor,” said Sarge.

“Well, Mr. Sargent, I’ve heard great things about you in the past. I also want you to know I enjoyed your book immensely.”

“Thank you, Governor,” said Sarge. “I’m surprised our paths didn’t cross at the conference in San Diego last year.”

Brad caught up with him and Sarge made the introductions. While Brad and Governor LePage discussed the use of Maine’s ports for freighter traffic, Sarge struck up a conversation with the governor’s wife.

“Mrs. LePage, we’ve met before,” said Sarge. Sarge had met Ann LePage but wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to remind her of the circumstances. He decided it might lighten the mood on this serious occasion.

The group walked through the arch and began to make their way to the nation’s oldest state house in which the legislature still occupied its original chambers. The granite structure stood before them, proudly flying the American flag.

“We have? I’m sorry, Mr. Sargent, but I don’t recall,” said Mrs. LePage.

“It’s all right. My friend and I stopped in Boothbay Harbor during a visit last August,” started Sarge when Mrs. LePage interrupted.

“Oh my. Did I wait on you for lunch?” she asked, slightly embarrassed.

Mrs. LePage had taken a job at McSeagull’s restaurant for a short time at the local haunt, proudly serving up flounder and halibut to hungry patrons. Sarge and Julia had attended a private fundraiser on behalf of Abbie in the small Maine coastal town and popped into the restaurant for lunch, unaware that the governor’s wife would be waiting on them.

“I was trying to pay off my mother’s car; she died a little over a year ago. People were so gracious and patient. At fifty-eight, I was easily the oldest waitress in town.”

She and Sarge laughed as they shared his memory of lunch. She recounted how people gave her large tips for the car fund. Her husband was a fiscally conservative Republican and the lowest-paid governor in the country. Governor LePage had a scorched-earth relationship with Democrats, and the local media, in the State of Maine. He had been quoted as saying he would tell the President to go to hell and that the IRS was the new Gestapo. He was reviled by his political opponents. Sarge, however, liked him.

“Truthfully, I didn’t know who you were at the time,” started Sarge. “But you gave us great service and I’m sure I left you a fair tip.”

“Why, thank you!” said Mrs. LePage. She then leaned into Sarge and whispered, “Mr. Sargent, my husband says great things about you. This country needs a leader. A man with a big set of testicles.”

Sarge started laughing at the unexpected reference, drawing the attention of the others in the entourage. “I agree. But do you think I’m the one with a—”

“Ayuh,” she said. “A big set is what this nation needs.”

Chapter 13

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

1:00 p.m.

1PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Drew waited nervously, randomly kicking rocks in the gravel. He was uncomfortable being disarmed, considering what he’d been through for the last three months. The contingent of guards with their weapons on low ready indicated to him that these guys were military and well disciplined.

Thus far, his hunch had paid off. The location of Abbie’s political speech he’d accompanied her to last summer was more than just a budding home for wayward souls. Much more.

The high-pitched whine of small engines reminded him of Muddy Pond, where ATVs were the vehicle of choice. Drew conjured up visions from years ago when his younger brother, Jack, and his friends flew up the driveway to tell him about their latest hunt. Today, he hoped his hunt for the love of his life was over.

“Oh my God,” screamed Abbie as she jumped out of the Polaris Ranger at a run. Her hair was flying in the wind as she raced past the guards, who made a halfhearted attempt to slow her progress.

Drew stood still, grinning from ear to ear as she tackled him into the hood of the Suburban. She missed me.

“It’s a pleasure to see you too, Senator,” said Drew, barely able to contain his excitement.

Abbie began to sob. “Drew, I thought you were … Oh thank god,” she said as she hugged him tight.

“Abbie, you have no idea. I’ve waited for this moment for months. I’ve never taken my mind off you.”

Abbie pulled back from their embrace and studied him. She touched his face and ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re okay. You’re really here?”

“I am, for as long as you’ll have me.” Drew laughed. In all the time they’d spent together, Drew never recalled seeing this side of Abbie. She was a grown woman, a senator, and she was holding him with the enthusiasm of a teenage girl. He truly loved her.

“Ma’am,” interrupted CWO Kyle Shore. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to secure the gate. May I bring the gentlemen’s vehicle inside? It’s been searched.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Abbie. “Drew, do you wanna drive us down, or would you rather take the four-wheeler?”

“How far is it?” asked Drew, looking up at the clear skies.

“About a mile.”

“Is it safe? Are you up for a walk?” Drew wanted to talk with Abbie alone before he got involved in conversations with other people. This level of security was not just put in place for Abbie. Her father was probably here and perhaps others. Drew wanted to get the lay of the land and catch up with Abbie first.

“Yes, that’s a great idea,” replied Abbie. “Mr. Shore, would you mind delivering our vehicles to 1PP? We’re going to walk.”

“Yes, ma’am. But we have to send two men with you. It’s orders, ma’am.”

“Of course,” said Abbie.

She took Drew by the arm and they walked around the HESCO barriers. Drew saw evidence of the firefight that had taken place two months ago. He stopped and whispered to Abbie, “Do you think I can have my gun back? I feel, well, naked.”

Abbie stopped and looked at him for several seconds. He couldn’t read her mind, but he’d seen that look from a woman before.

“Mr. Shore, please return his gun,” instructed Abbie.

“Sidearm only, please,” added Drew. Drew didn’t see a need to tote his AR-10 while catching up with Abbie. He got the sense there were lots of eyes on them at this point. He was excited to get caught up with Abbie’s life over the last three months. But he was intrigued about what lay ahead.

The two took thirty minutes to walk the mile to 1PP. Drew recounted how he’d recovered and found his way home to Muddy Pond. She tried to explain her father’s actions, to which Drew simply nodded unemotionally. He described the nearly two-week trek from Tennessee to Massachusetts. A normal two-day drive had taken much longer as Drew avoided roving gangs, small-town roadblocks, and military checkpoints. The circuitous route had required additional gasoline for the hugely fuel-inefficient Suburban.

As they approached the clearing comprising the 1PP compound, he took in what life was like for Abbie. The Quinn girls were playing fetch with Winnie the Frenchie under the watchful eye of Susan. The Lowells and Cabots were wrapped in blankets, playing bridge at a picnic table. At every corner of the clearing was an armed sheepdog protecting their flock and prepared to confront the wolf.

“There are so many people I want you to meet, Drew,” started Abbie. “But I think we need to see my father first. Is that okay?”

“I agree.”

Drew followed Abbie up the stairs into 1PP. His presence drew the attention of everyone in the yard, but they were inside before inquiry could be made.

“He’s probably resting downstairs,” said Abbie as she led him to the spiral staircase leading into the fortified basement bunker. Drew was amazed at the construction of the building. This was an intricately planned and developed facility. Above ground, it resembled a clubhouse in a subdivision. Below ground, it was an upscale nuclear fallout shelter. They reached a slightly ajar door and Abbie asked him to wait for a moment.

While she prepared her father for Drew’s arrival, Drew steadied his nerves. His anger toward Morgan would be put in the back of his mind and then rear its ugly head from time to time, usually when Drew began to miss Abbie the most. Despite the fact that he’d rehearsed the words he planned on saying a thousand times, when Abbie opened the door and invited him in, the planned speech escaped him.

Morgan’s appearance surprised Drew. He visualized a strong, vibrant man. Drew fantasized how he would confront the powerful, wealthy globalist and financier, regardless of the consequences. Instead, he found a weak, sullen victim of a stroke who didn’t appear in any position to engage in an argument. And then the words of Drew’s father popped into his head—He was doing what was best for his daughter, his only child. You can’t begrudge him that.

“Hello, sir,” said Drew politely. He extended his hand to shake Morgan’s. Morgan was only able to lift his left arm and return the gesture.

“Hello, young man,” said Morgan. “My daughter speaks very highly of you. I am truly glad that you’re okay.”

“Yes, sir,” said Drew, suddenly at a loss for words.

Morgan turned to Abbie and asked her to leave them alone for a moment. She questioned why and looked to Drew for help. Drew nodded, indicating that she should allow them to speak privately. After the door was closed, Morgan spoke first.

“Mr. Jackson, I owe you an apology. It was never my intention to cause you any harm. My pilot advised me that we only had sufficient fuel to carry the three of us back here. I am sorry.”

Drew approached Morgan and leaned down in order to whisper to him, “Sir, I’ve thought about this moment for months as I recovered from the beating and while being shot at from Florida to Tennessee to here. I’m here for one reason.”

Drew took his right hand and reached toward his gun, sliding the pistol’s handle out of the way. He pulled his grandmother’s engagement ring out of his pocket and revealed it to Morgan.

“I’m here to ask your permission to marry Abbie.”

Chapter 14

Monday, December 12, 2016

1:00 p.m.

1PP War Room

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

The 1PP war room was crowded for today’s meeting. Drew was now a regular attendee, and in addition to Brad and Donald, he would participate in all of the daily briefings when he wasn’t performing other functions.

The Loyal Nine were committed to taking their local successes on a national level. The President had not taken any action to fill the void left by the removal of Governor O’Brien. Sarge, through his quick maneuvering, rallied the governors of the six states comprising the former FEMA Region I. He urged them to cross the ideological political divide to work with one another towards the recovery effort.

Sarge started a grassroots effort, which began at the local level in small cities like Belchertown, and gradually worked his way up to the county and state governments. He envisioned the nation coming together in this time of crisis in the same manner in which it was formed, from the ground up, rather than what brought it to its knees, a top-heavy federal bureaucracy. In his mind, the cyber attack afforded the country an opportunity to wipe the slate clean of its massive federal bureaucracies and rebuild itself politically into the constitutional republic designed by the Founding Fathers.

“Gentlemen, we all agree that the final step in re-establishing the sovereignty of Massachusetts and Governor Baker’s state government is to remove the United Nations forces from our city,” started Sarge as everyone took a seat in the war room. He received a smile of encouragement from first-time attendee John Morgan. Sarge studied a laminated map of downtown Boston tacked to the wall between two bookcases. A light blue line encircled the area around the Boston Seaport, indicating the location of the UN troops. “Brad, fill us in on the positioning of General Zhang’s forces and the recent changes in attitude, for lack of a better word.”

Brad stood and approached the map as Sarge moved to the side. He was not wearing his customary military fatigues. Monday was laundry day. “I can only describe the situation as surreal. As I’ve reported, any of Zhang’s troops that leave their encampment at the Seaport are commandeered by us. The Federal Prison Camp at Fort Devens, once full of union thugs, is now full of UN soldiers from around the world. Frankly, I was beginning to be concerned that we’d run out of room up there. But the dynamic has changed.”

“How so?” asked Donald.

“Two days ago, their troop expeditions ceased,” replied Brad. “Vehicles have now been strategically placed around the seaport to block the bridges entering the city and prevent access to Interstate 90 into East Boston. They appear to be hunkering down.”

“Do you think they’re regrouping?” asked Drew. Brad was about to answer when a raspy whisper spoke up from the back of the room.

“Awaiting reinforcements,” said Morgan.

Brad put his hands inside his USMC hooded sweatshirt and nodded in agreement. “I agree. It appears the general is circling the wagons with the intent of creating a standoff until he gets help.”

“How can we confirm this?” asked Sarge.

“Per your instructions, I’ve stepped up my communications with other senior military officers that are on board with our national program when the time is right. We exchange information and strategy daily.”

“Any news?” asked Donald.

“Two UN troop carriers left Charleston, South Carolina, and were seen sailing north along the Atlantic Seaboard near Norfolk, Virginia. I believe they’re headed our way.”

“Not good,” said Morgan.

“We agree, sir,” said Brad. If we allow the UN to become firmly entrenched, with more troops and firepower, we stand to lose everything we’ve gained so far.”

Sarge walked up to the map and circled an area including Logan International Airport and East Boston. “I need this airport. Without Logan, we can’t bring in the aircraft required to airlift the smaller transformers necessary to establish temporary power in the state government facilities.”

Brad continued, using a yellow marker. “With the Callahan Tunnel impassible here,” he said, circling the area from Boston North End to Jeffries Point in East Boston, “our only means of access to the airport is via the Ted Williams tunnel, which enters the harbor right next to the Seaport.”

“We have to take the fight to them,” said Sarge. “If their reinforcements arrive, we may be outgunned. How soon can your men be ready to take on Zhang?”

Brad contemplated the question for a moment and then studied the map. He began to relay his thoughts to the group out loud. “We’ve been preparing for this eventuality since before Thanksgiving. When Zhang walked away from me that day at Columbus Park, I knew only bullets would resolve this standoff. He apparently has come to that realization as well.”

Morgan interrupted. “The President has initiated this activity.”

Sarge nodded. “Yes, sir. The UN would not have repositioned these troops without the President’s authority. We have to take action quickly to dislodge the UN or at least send a clear message to their commanders. You’re not welcome in Boston.”

“Tell us about your OPLAN,” said Morgan. OPLAN was an acronym used by the military for an operations plan.

Using a combination of red and blue markers, Brad detailed the troop positioning of the UN forces and his planned use of his undermanned Marines. Brad’s tactical advantage included the use of the tall buildings for a strategic height advantage and the element of surprise. In his view, General Zhang had been given a reasonable offer, and warning. He’d rejected Brad’s proposal by rudely walking away. It was now time to go to war.

“What type of resistance do you anticipate from the UN soldiers?” asked Donald.

“We think we’ve been wearing them down with a propaganda scheme,” replied Sarge. “Brad noticed that the vast majority of the UN troops sent into the field were from non-Asian countries. The logical conclusion we reached was that General Zhang was willing to sacrifice them and keep his Asian based troops within the safety of the UN encampment.”

“So we enlisted some of the residents of Chinatown,” added Brad. “I met with the White Devil, Bac Guai John, and he provided us several people willing to read a constant stream of propaganda messages over temporary loudspeakers we procured from Fenway Park.”

“Brilliant!” said Morgan.

“Yes, sir,” said Brad. “The young Asian girls read a script in Chinese that encourage these young soldiers to lay down their weapons. They’re told how much their mothers and girlfriends miss them at home. The young girls ask them why they’d want to die for an unjust cause.”

“Do you think it’s working?” asked Donald.

“It has to be having an adverse psychological effect on the UN troops,” replied Brad. “Our volunteers broadcast twenty-four seven. Zhang countered with playing music within his compound at a louder and louder volume. At this point, his men must be close to bat-shit crazy.”

Chapter 15

Saturday, December 17, 2016

6:00 a.m.

The Seaport

Boston, Massachusetts

Drew had slipped through the darkness with six members of his team comprised of four Marines and two Mechanics. For hours, they took a circuitous route on foot through South Boston, including the street where Pumpsie Jones lost his life, an event that triggered race riots in Boston.

Their long-range binoculars found a weakness in the UN’s defense perimeter—the Summer Street bridge, which crossed the Reserved Channel. Drew led his men across the bridge, darting ahead and then diving for cover. They were exposed for about three-quarters of a mile but benefitted from the many stalled vehicles and the cloud cover of a coming winter storm.

As the sun began to rise on a new damp, cold day, Drew and his team had returned to the rally point eight hours after their mission started. On the balconies of high-rise hotels and the rooftops of Boston’s waterfront skyline, Marines and Mechanics awaited their orders to rain hellfire on the occupying forces.

Brad intentionally took up his position on the rooftop of 99 High. A symbolic fuck you to O’Brien and all who consorted with him. At precisely six a.m., Brad gave the order to remotely detonate the TNT munitions obtained from the Mount Mica Mine in Paris, Maine.

No warning preceded the blasts, which blew out the glass in the buildings surrounding the Convention Center. Fragments of concrete, brick and shards of glass pelted the soldiers standing watch along the city side of the Seaport. Their rear remained unguarded, thus the ability of Drew and his team to gain access to the back of the Convention Center.

At each entrance to the upper levels of the building, Drew’s operatives placed explosive charges. Brad delayed their detonation by sixty seconds. In his estimation, the reaction of the sleeping troops would be to take cover. If they did, their lives would be spared, although their accommodations would be ruined. If they ran outside to see what was going on, they’d probably die.

“Fifteen seconds,” said Brad to Gunny Falcone, who was manning the final detonator. Brad watched as the UN soldiers ran in a panicked, haphazard fashion in all directions. He let out a sigh when hundreds of troops exited the Convention Center, wildly discharging small-arms fire across the channel. The bullets had no effect on the positioning of Brad’s men, who remained disciplined and patiently held their fire until they were given their orders.

“Now! Blow it up!” ordered Brad. He was watching through the binoculars, anticipating a series of massive explosions. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and then the view through his binoculars turned to dust and debris. The shock waves from the blast shook 99 High to its core in more ways than one.

Projectiles forced their way inward, ripping into the occupants. Screams filled the air, drawing Brad’s interest to the sidewalks surrounding the Convention Center. Large pieces of metal and concrete flew through the air, raining down on the UN tents and temporary housing established in the adjacent parking areas.

He debated the need for the next action. From his observations, it was unlikely many people survived the blast inside the Convention Center. During his Marines’ first encounter with the UN at the Seaport, Gunny Falcone elected to save his final MANPADS Stinger missile rather than inflict hundreds more casualties on the UN troops. Brad had discussed this decision with his trusted officer and agreed with him at the time.

After two months on American soil, the United Nations proved themselves to be the minions of a tyrannical President who operated outside of the bounds of basic human rights. Plus, they’d given the UN ample opportunity to do the right thing.

Tick-tock. Time’s up.

Brad recalled General George S. Patton’s words on the objectives of war. May God have mercy upon my enemies because I won’t. He patted Gunny Falcone on the back and gave him further instructions.

“Light ’em up!”

Chapter 16

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Dawn

Logan International Airport

East Boston, Massachusetts

East Boston, or Eastie, as it was affectionately called by Bostonians, was originally made up of five islands that were connected using landfill from the construction of Logan Airport during World War II.

The population of East Boston exploded in the early twentieth century by an influx of immigrants primarily from southern Italy. At the time of the cyber attack, nearly forty thousand people lived in East Boston, sixty percent of which were Hispanic. It was also the home of the vicious criminal organization and Central American drug cartel known as Mara Salvatrucha, or MS-13, which predominantly operated in the East Boston ghettos. Their leader, Joaquin Guzman, was recruited by O’Brien to terrorize the wealthy neighborhoods of Boston. However, the neighborhood patrols established by the Mechanics, together with pushback from the Asian gangs of Chinatown, discouraged the MS-13, leaving them fairly inactive on the mainland side of the harbor.

Logan Airport, one of the busiest in the world, comprised over fifty percent of the landmass of East Boston. Its strategic importance was impressed upon Drew repeatedly in the daily briefings in the war room. After a day of restful sleep at 100 Beacon following his successful operation at the Boston Seaport, he and his teams were ready.

With the assistance of the White Devil, the Ted Williams tunnel was cleared and secured. The stalled vehicles were provided sufficient fuel to be removed from both lanes under the Boston Main Channel. Brad’s men were strategically positioned to guard the entrance from any potential UN interaction, although none was expected.

Their will to fight, and spirit, was completely broken. The evening before, Brad had learned of their intent to surrender following the death of General Zhang and his top two commanders.

Drew’s mission was threefold. First, he was to secure the perimeter of the airport along its western boundaries. The remainder of the Logan Airport complex was surrounded by water. Once the western perimeter was secured, his men needed to flush out any squatters. This would likely take days and hundreds of men. The facility was massive and included numerous underground pedestrian walkways, which were considerably warmer than the frigid temperatures and blowing snow Drew was experiencing as he surveyed East Boston from the top of the Hilton Hotel at the entrance to the airport.

The third challenge, and the most difficult of all, was to keep MS-13 at bay. The brain trust in the war room agreed that it would be impossible to identify and then remove all of the gang members. Drew, Brad, and J.J. discussed the comparisons between military activities in the Middle East and the challenges of eradicating East Boston of the MS-13. Identification of the gang members required the willing assistance of the locals, most of whom were either related to, or living in fear of, the MS-13.

Donald, who was most familiar with the East Boston area because of the Boston Brahmin’s ownership of Suffolk Downs, the legendary thoroughbred racetrack located on the northern end of Eastie, suggested they secure the elevated freeway to the north into Revere and Chelsea. An arrangement had been made with the 157th Air Refueling Wing to provide aircraft jet fuel for the inbound planes. The most direct route would be through Revere.

The four-man teams comprised of the ever-expanding Mechanics rallied at the MBTA South Boston terminal and were given their assignments. First, they would control ingress and egress to East Boston by guarding Interstate 90 from where it exited the Ted Williams Tunnel all the way north until it terminated in Revere. Ten teams would position themselves every quarter mile along the stretch, with their weapons trained on the Jeffries Point and Eagle Hill neighborhoods.

After the perimeter was established, another ten teams would systematically sweep through Logan, removing any squatters. These teams were seasoned in battle and were capable of removing any armed resistance.

Once Drew was comfortable that any armed pockets of residents were dispatched, he’d bring in more members of the Mechanics, many of whom had aircraft operations experience, to bring Logan up to some semblance of operational capability. After Donald and Sarge convinced other nations to lend aid, then they would break the news that the massive aircraft airlifting these supplies would have to fly into Logan using visual flight rules, or VFR.

Unlike its normal operational capability to accommodate a million passengers a day, Donald said one or two inbound flights a day would meet his needs until power was restored to the airport. These inbound flights would be carrying food, supplies, and much-needed mechanical parts to reestablish the power grid and create a nationwide communications network.

The teams quickly took their positions on the high ground of Interstate 90. Inside the Hilton Hotel, the remaining teams were conducting floor-to-floor searches. Although hotel room doors were difficult to breach when the electronic card system was not available, they’d found evidence on the lower floors that the locals had literally clawed their way into the four-star accommodations, using crowbars and claw hammers. This gave Drew the idea of taking innocent squatters out of the airport facility and providing them some warmth and comfort in the Hilton Hotel. Great rates guaranteed!

As he left his rooftop perch and headed for the fire escape, the door burst open and two of his subordinates approached him.

“Sir, there’s someone downstairs you’ll want to meet,” said his seniormost team leader.

“Y’all lead the way,” said Drew. The three men trotted down the nine flights of stairs to the lobby, where half a dozen civilians were being closely watched by one of the teams.

“This way, sir.” Drew followed his men to a sixtyish gentleman and a slightly younger woman sitting on a couch in the lobby. The man rose to greet Drew and slowly raised his hand to shake.

“Sir, my name is Drew Jackson,” he said as he shook the man’s hand.

“Yes, sir. I am Roberto Arkadelli, the director of aviation operations at Logan,” the man announced proudly. “My job is, um, was to oversee all aviation units, including operations and airport facilities. I used to hold a similar position at Berlin’s Tempelhof Airport prior to its closing in 2008.”

Drew glanced at his watch and grew impatient. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Mr. Jackson, during my years at Tempelhof, I’ve seen military operations, both large scale and small,” he began to reply. “I recognize your activities. If you intend to take control of Logan, I can provide you some assistance.”

Drew studied the man. He needed to maintain OPSEC, but the man was not going to be allowed to leave the hotel under any circumstances. He decided to take a chance.

“What can you tell me?” asked Drew.

“There are five terminals at Logan, but Terminal E is unoccupied,” he replied.

“What do you mean by unoccupied?” asked Drew.

“Eleven of the gates in Terminal E are used for international flights,” he replied. “When flights were grounded that Saturday night, the TSA stopped clearing inbound international passengers. They were placed into a secured room called a sterile area by the U.S. Customs & Border Protection people.”

“Oh-kay?” Drew was wondering where the elderly gentleman was going with this.

“Um, the CBP abandoned their posts and the passengers were forgotten,” he continued. “One of my security guards and I found them dead a week later.”

“Jeez. How many?” asked Drew.

“Nearly five hundred.”

Drew had to walk away. He approached the glass windows, looking into the newly falling snow. So much senseless death. After gathering himself, he turned to learn more.

“What else do you know?”

“They’re occupying Terminal C,” he replied.

“Who?”

“MS-13.”

Chapter 17

Sunday, December 18, 2016

11:00 a.m.

Logan International Airport

East Boston, Massachusetts

Drew sent a messenger back into Boston to recruit more personnel. He believed the Logan director of aviation operations. The information, other than the CBP debacle, was valuable. MS-13 had confined themselves into a single area, but it was defensible. It would take a lot of firepower and sheer numbers to dislodge them. He would redeploy the seasoned members of the Mechanics to positions surrounding Terminal C, and the new personnel would handle the freeway security duties.

Terminal C was a logical location for the gangbangers. Restaurants and shops were in abundance in this terminal, initially providing them food and supplies. It was on the easternmost end of the airport and farthest away from the main airport entrance. They would have two-hundred-and-seventy-degree clear lines of sight to approaching vehicles via the airport runway. Nobody could sneak up on them. Except from below.

Arkadelli told Drew about the maze of maintenance tunnels that connected the terminals to each other and were only accessible by freight elevators that were no longer operable. There was one exception, and that was in the southernmost section of Terminal C beneath gate forty-two and the Our Lady of the Airway Chapel.

From time to time, funeral proceedings were held in the chapel for airport dignitaries and fatal victims of airport or airline accidents. In order to transport the caskets in and out of the chapel, a long ramp was installed from the tunnel system into a room at the back of the chapel. Arkadelli was using this access point as he kept an eye on the activities of the MS-13 gang. He impressed on Drew that he was willing to take the risk because, until told otherwise, Logan International was still his airport.

Drew prepared his teams underneath gate forty-two. He looked into the faces of the volunteers. None of them had the experience or the gravitas of Nomad, Bugs, and Sharpie. But they had a strong desire for freedom and an intent to remake America into the mighty nation it once was.

Then Drew thought of Abbie. This operation was fraught with danger and deadly threats. He had very little intel on the numbers or the firepower of the MS-13 gang members upstairs. He was going to emerge blind as to the size and capability of the enemy. Despite the element of surprise, they could be overwhelmed once they entered the terminal.

Drew led them up the ramp and he quietly opened the door to the chapel. It was empty, providing him the opportunity to ease the tension with a sigh of relief. The rest of the teams, forty men in all, joined him inside the chapel. He noticed several said prayers at the circular altar in the center of the room. On a normal day, Sunday Mass would’ve been finishing up at this point.

The dynamics of their assault were fairly simple—shock and awe. The lead teams, led by Drew, would be a group of seasoned Mechanics comfortable in using their AR-15 rifles. Drew wore a full kit with several full magazines, as did all of the members of the lead team.

Using the concrete pillars evenly spaced down both sides of the terminal, the teams would use a bounding overwatch tactic. The teams would have to be fast in their approach, constantly laying down fire and shooting every person they saw. There would be little time to assess friendly versus hostiles. This was going to be a bloodbath, pure and simple. Based upon the atrocities performed by MS-13 as they adopted the methods of their sworn brethren, ISIS, Drew considered their fate to be karma.

Drew peeked out of the chapel entry and saw a group of men standing at the large plate-glass windows, watching the snow blanket the stalled aircraft. They were distracted and unarmed. He turned to his first four two-man teams.

“We’ve got half a dozen hostiles watching the snow on the right side of the terminal, facing the runway. They’re not armed. I don’t see anyone else at this point. There are beds and cots strewn about. Watch for people sleeping. Remember, everyone is considered to be a hostile except unarmed women and children. Be careful. Leave nothing to chance. Are we good?”

Drew pulled his sidearm and affixed a silencer. His partner did the same. They quietly eased out into the terminal undetected. Using the pillars and the ticket counters as cover, they snuck up on the seven gangbangers and quickly ended their lives.

This end of Terminal C was short compared to the other two prongs. As the teams quickly moved forward towards the large open area that held the food court and shops, Drew began to grow concerned. Where was everybody?

The shops and restaurants had been looted. The entire area was empty. Drew slowly peered around the corner of the Pizza Hut counter and looked to the easternmost prong of the terminal. There were a couple of dozen men, women, and children with their faces pressed against the large plate-glass windows, watching the heavy snowflakes blanket the runways.

Drew elected to clear the other prong of the terminal, which included gates eleven through twenty-one. From his vantage point, it appeared empty for now. He motioned for the other two-man team with silencer-ready weapons to join him. The four men would have to dart across the open food court to the other side without being seen by the snow watchers to their right.

He counted them down with his fingers—three, two, one. Like ninjas in a movie, they snuck across the opening in a fast run, barely making a noise on the tile floor. Positioned on opposite sides of the terminal, they began their advance. Gate by gate, they covered each other, and the four men moved forward. As Drew led the procession to the end of this wing, he saw more of the MS-13. Huddled around the windows of gates twenty and twenty-one were two men, three women, and several children.

“Crap!” Drew muttered to himself. One of the men appeared to have a TEC-9 slung over his shoulder. He thought about leaving this group alone and going after the larger one first. One of the teams would have to be left behind to cover everyone else’s ass.

He let out a breath. He didn’t have time to debate. This was war. As Drew approached the group, trying to sight a clear shot against the armed man who was holding a young boy on his back, one of the other children spotted him. Drew was shouting in his head as he advanced. Please be quiet. Shhhh. No. No. No!

“Papi, Papi, los hombres con armas están llegando,” the young boy warned his father of the men with guns.

The gunman dropped the child and immediately swung to fire upon Drew. Drew was much faster on the trigger. Two shots to the chest and one to the head ended the man’s life, but not before the gangbanger released a burst from the fully automatic TEC-9, shattering the windows across the terminal.

It’s awwwwn now, as the good ole boys in Tennessee would say before a barroom brawl. The other man wrestled a handgun from his waistband but was killed before he could succeed. Drew approached the group cautiously amidst screaming and shouting coming from the other part of the terminal.

“Secure these weapons and watch them,” said Drew as the women and children huddled over the dead bodies of their papis. Drew stopped to look through the windows at the wing of Terminal C occupied by the rest of MS-13. The T-shaped building had four jets parked on the tarmac. There were metal stairwells that led from the accordion jet bridge to the snow-covered runway below.

“Let’s go,” said Drew to his partner. They ran back to the center of the terminal and joined the rest of the Mechanics.

To get to the back section of the terminal, they would have to run against the side walls and use the shiny metal pillars as cover. They would be exposed. There was only one way for his men to make it down that walkway without taking heavy casualties. He had to scare the bejesus out of the enemy.

He holstered his sidearm and switched to his prized DPMS AR-10. The booming 7.62-millimeter rounds should provide sufficient deterrent to any fool on the other end of the hallway. He grabbed two of his AR-15 teams and gave them instructions. Drew instructed them to fire down the right side of the hallway, blowing out the windows facing the runway. He would sprint down the left side, adding to the firepower until he could get close enough to lay down cover for the entire group to advance.

This was about a four-hundred-foot shot, and not under the best of conditions considering the low-hanging directional signs. But the barrage of small-arms fire should cause the gangbangers to take cover while Drew sprinted forward for better positioning.

“On my go,” said Drew. All of his men nodded confidently. He flipped off the safety, crouched down, and gave them the thumbs-up. “Go!”

The noise was deafening as the AR-15s sent lead down the hallway and littered the tile floor with brass. As Drew sprinted from column to column on the left side, he saw bodies collapse into heaps, their blood draining out across the tile. Some MS-13 thugs scrambled to avoid the hail of gunfire and slipped in the blood of the dead. They were dispatched by bullets finding their marks and those that skipped off the slick tile floor—ricocheting into their flesh.

Thus far, none of the Mechanics had been able to shoot out the windows, so he steadied his weapon as he ran to the next column and sent a round through the center of the plate glass. The explosion and the subsequent roar of wind and snow entering the terminal was deafening. It also had the desired effect. The return fire from the gangbangers stopped, and the sounds of screams, both male and female, joined the uproar.

Drew reached the end of the hallway and took a look at the entire terminal from gate thirty-one to gate thirty-six. It was empty. There wasn’t anyone, yet he could still hear the women and children crying over the roar of the snowstorm, which was now providing a very wet surface on the tile.

He saw a few men running across the tarmac in the snow, hustling to get away from the carnage. Drew decided they’d sealed their own fate in this weather. Then, he caught a glimpse of a child’s face looking at him from the window of a Jet Blue aircraft parked at the gate. The gangbangers and their families had sought cover in the aircraft. His teams would have to go into the airplanes one by one and dislodge the stowaways. He hoped they’d cooperate and lay down their arms. Otherwise, they’d have a bumpy flight.

Chapter 18

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Christmas Eve

8:00 p.m.

1 PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Sarge missed his study at 100 Beacon. He asked Brad and Drew to bring back a few things that he considered his pride and joy. Naturally, his nineteenth-century partner’s desk crafted from oak, with tooled leather inserts and decorated with brass appointments, was out of the question. The desk was a gift to Winthrop Sargent Gilman when he opened the banking house of Gilman, Son & Co. around the turn of the twentieth century. But his chair was easily loaded into a Humvee and now provided a comfortable seat to give his weekly address to all those who found a way to listen on the Digital Carrier Pigeon.

While it was too early to declare the battle for Boston as mission accomplished, Brad and Drew had achieved both of their goals. East Boston was subdued and Logan Airport was being prepared to receive flights. The UN forces had lowered their white flag with a blue emblem from the pole in front of the John J. Moakley Federal Court House and replaced it with a white flag indicating their surrender. Two days ago, a message was delivered to Brad’s men via a flag-waving emissary. They would be leaving Boston by the end of the month.

It was time to take the fight to restore the nation to a regional and national level. But tonight, Sarge didn’t think it was appropriate to tout their local accomplishments and deliver a call to arms. No. This needed to be a message of hope and faith. He began.

“Merry Christmas, my fellow Americans. I want to sum up the tenor of life in America in this way. The famous author Charles Dickens once said, ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ That is certainly true today. Our nation is experiencing an incomprehensible tragedy. Too many of our family, friends, and neighbors live in the shadow of destitution and under the thumb of tyranny. The world is full of peril, but it’s also full of promise.

“As I speak with you this evening, America is on the precipice. We are a proud nation that hangs in the balance. As the American people struggle to survive, there are foreign soldiers on our land, intent upon using brute force, mass arrests, and the setting up of horrific FEMA camps designed to contain you while they take your property.

“The target of this oppression is the freedom-loving patriot like yourself who is listening to this message. Millions of you across this great nation have joined our cause. You have learned of our successes. You see hope in joining our fight for freedom.

“On this Christmas, we should recognize our freedom as the most sacred of all goals. I believe in the promise of America. All patriotic Americans have the inherent and acquired instincts to survive this calamity, as well as the power to rise to the occasion.

“I believe in the spirit of Christmas. This unique day, filled with the love of family and friends, has not changed by virtue of our struggles. Lights, music, and presents are easily replaced with the happiness shown in children’s faces and hearts. Remain steadfast for our children.

“I urge you to keep the faith. Both faith and freedom need care and attention. Rededicate your efforts to the preservation of the ideals we hold near and dear to our hearts, like our forefathers did before us.

“Christmas is a time to treasure the sacrifices these brave men and women made to create the greatest nation on earth. Allow me to tell the story of one Christmas in particular. The year was 1776, our first as a nation.

“The War for Independence had been going poorly. But General George Washington’s faith, courage, and leadership would inspire his men and turn the tide of history. On that fateful Christmas night, General Washington led a group of cold, weak, and ragged soldiers across the Delaware River through a driving snowstorm.

“He planned to use the element of surprise and the cover of poor weather to attack a regiment of Hessians—German soldiers who were in the service of the British Empire. General Washington and his twenty-four hundred troops crossed the Delaware River and marched into Trenton, New Jersey, through the cold and wet snow. Some of the soldiers were barefoot, leaving bloody footprints along their route.

“There were traitors in Washington’s ranks. Deserters who chose to abandon the cause of freedom in exchange for the offerings of gold and friendship from the enemy. The Hessians disregarded the traitors’ warnings. They had betrayed Washington for nothing.

“As daylight came on the day after Christmas, Washington’s brave troops descended upon the unsuspecting and groggy Hessians. Within two hours, Washington’s men had overwhelmed the enemy and completely surrounded Trenton.

“The victory was not particularly significant from a strategic point of view, but news of Washington’s accomplishments spread throughout the colonies, raising the spirits of those doubters who previously feared freedom from the bonds of tyranny was unattainable.

“On this Christmas, I want you to remember the image of George Washington kneeling in prayer in the snow of Valley Forge before he led his men to victory. Washington personified the strength of a people who knew it was not enough to rely upon their courage and goodness. They must also seek help from God, their faith, and their desire to be free.

“We are winning, my friends, make no mistake about that. I urge you to always choose freedom, my fellow Americans. Merry Christmas to you all, and God bless the United States of America.”

Chapter 19

Sunday, December 25, 2016

Christmas Day

10:00 a.m.

1 PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Susan was very conflicted on this Christmas morning. She and Donald had been blessed with so much in their lives. She tried to give back through her volunteer work or church activities. Now, there were people in need all over the country and she couldn’t reach out to them.

In normal times, this morning would have been a big celebration featuring videocams and little girls giddy over their presents. Despite their good fortune, Susan was having difficulty expressing the joy of Christmas when there was so much suffering across the nation.

Julia had relayed reports of children dying due to lack of doctors and medicines. Those who lived were malnourished and impoverished. They were forced to grow up in a world with little food, no schools, and the threat of violence.

Many were held in the FEMA camps, while others were trapped in their homes, surrounded by warring gangs who commandeered food and other vital supplies for their own black market activities.

The repercussions of the collapse were not only going to be physical, but also psychological for children as they grew up in a hostile environment filled with death. Despite their limited exposure to the assault from the Belchertown residents, Penny and Rebecca experienced nightmares and lived in constant fear of being attacked. Susan could only imagine what the children of the inner cities were encountering.

Julia did provide Susan some hope. In areas of the Southeastern United States and New England, where families and neighbors had come together to rebuild our broken nation, women were becoming central contributors to the effort. Despite the continued dangers, women and children were helping others less fortunate to regain their dignity and respect.

Random acts of kindness made a return to the American way of life. For that, Susan said a prayer and gave thanks to God.

“Mommy!” shouted Penny, causing Susan to drop the kitchen towel and run into the dining area.

“Penny! Are you okay?”

“Mommy, Becca keeps messing up the place settings,” complained Penny.

“No, I am not,” responded Rebecca definitively. “The little fork goes outside the big fork, right, Mommy?” Susan let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps it wasn’t just the children who had been impacted by the Belchertown raid.

“No, it does not,” exclaimed Penny Emily Post Quinn. “We don’t have a salad, do we, Mom? That’s why I put it closer to the plate as the dessert fork.”

“Come here, my little dumplings,” said Susan, inviting them with open arms for a hug. The girls grabbed their mom around the waist and squeezed tight.

Penny broke away first. “Does that mean I was right?”

Susan laughed at her now twelve-year-old, who had finally recovered from her timber rattlesnake bite. “You’re kinda both right. Becca is right that we don’t have any salad to serve today. Penny is correct that the fork will be used for dessert. However, the proper placement is right here.” Susan reached for the small fork and placed it sideways above the plate.

“Hmmm,” said Rebecca, as if this was quite an interesting development. “Mommy, what time will the soldiers be here?”

“Soon. Now, you two silly elves finish this up and then help me in the kitchen. The rest of our helpers will be here soon.”

Rebecca gave her mom another hug and looked up. “Mom, this is the best Christmas ever.”

“Yes. Yes, it is, my pretty baby.”

*****

Brad’s men shuffled into 1PP to the smiles and heartfelt thanks of the civilian population of Prescott Peninsula. Susan, Abbie, and Julia finished preparing Christmas dinner for their troops and protectors. The Boston Brahmin wives made sure the soldiers were welcomed and comfortable. The Quinn children provided comic relief and an occasional off-key Christmas carol.

As dinner came to an end, Brad stood, and the Marines under this unusual command immediately became quiet. Brad started to speak.

“Over the past twelve weeks, you have revealed some unmistakable facts. You’ve shown me that when you’re tested, you rise to meet the test. You’ve proven that the desire for freedom is more powerful than the intimidation of tyranny. You’ve shown me that there is no task too difficult for the United States Marines.”

“Oorah!” shouted the Marines.

“I want to thank you for making the decision to remain with me and serve under my command. Sometimes, in the scheme of things, it can be hard to tell when history is being made, especially when you’re in the middle of a firefight. What we’ve accomplished in the last three months is as important and every bit as courageous as what the colonists did during the Revolutionary War and our fellow Marines did in places like Normandy and Iwo Jima!”

“Oorah!”

“There will come a day, maybe when you’re grandparents, that young ladies like Rebecca and Penny will sit on your knee and say thank God you stood up to tyranny and chose freedom!

“My fellow Marines, we’ve just begun our duty to save this great nation. There are others like us around the nation who have lost loved ones. There are children growing up without a mom or a dad. But one thing is certain. Our children will grow up to be freedom-loving Americans because of the sacrifices you’ve made!”

“Oorah! Oorah!”

“Marines, on this Christmas, I would rather be with the men and women of the United States Marine Corps than with anybody else. Thank you for serving the United States of America. God bless you. Merry Christmas. Oorah!”

“Oorah!”

Chapter 20

Saturday, December 31, 2016

4:00 p.m.

Rooftop, 99 High Street

Boston, Massachusetts

The sun was dropping rapidly to their backs on what had been an absolutely gorgeous sunny day. Sarge thought it was apropos to meet here for this momentous occasion. Brad and Donald questioned the wisdom of all the Loyal Nine leaving the safety of Prescott Peninsula. But Sarge insisted that the symbolism of standing atop the headquarters of the Citizen Corps building was too good to pass up.

“A toast,” started Donald. “To Steven.”

“To Steven!”

Everyone clinked glasses and enjoyed a sip of champagne. To show his support and forgiveness of Katie, Sarge took her hand and pulled her into a hug. He whispered into her ear, “My brother loved you, Katie. Thank you for making him happy.”

Katie looked up to Sarge and began to shed a few tears. Katie had shown she was genuinely remorseful, and Sarge no longer doubted her loyalty and commitment.

A gust of cold wind blew up the side of the building and over the parapet. It startled Donald, who spilled a little of his champagne.

Katie had regained her composure and channeled Steven. “Party foul!” This produced laughter from everyone.

“Do you guys remember that night in April when we were all together on the rooftop of 100 Beacon?” asked Julia.

“Yeah, it was a heckuva lot warmer,” said Donald.

Abbie filled in Drew on the circumstances. “We had the opportunity to be together for the first time in many months. The nation was declining rapidly, socially and economically. On the rooftop—sipping champs, I might add—we all made a commitment to preserving the work of our forefathers.”

“We made that promise to the nation we love so much,” added Brad. “We also made a commitment to each other. We became a family that night—a family whose ideals and goals were the same as those patriots who founded our nation.”

“We suspected there would be challenges ahead,” said Sarge.

“Yeah, who knew, right?” Donald laughed.

Sarge continued. “We agreed that, like the original nine Bostonians who risked their lives to fight for freedom two hundred fifty years ago, when faced with the choice between compromising our principles and choosing freedom—we will always choose freedom.”

“Choose freedom!”

“Drew, my brother died for this ideal and for this country. He trusted you like a brother. That makes you my brother. And as the betrothed of Abbie, it makes you one of us. On behalf of all of us, I would like you to become a part of the Loyal Nine.”

“Hear, hear!” said the group as they raised their glasses in the air to toast Drew Jackson, a fellow patriot in the fight to save America.

Drew smiled and said, “I humbly accept.”

Abbie gave him a big hug and Drew exchanged handshakes and hugs with the others. The sound of a ship’s horn in the Boston Channel captured their attention. As the last of the UN vessels headed out to sea, Sarge spoke first.

“Boston is ours again, my friends.”

Then a reflection off something metallic in the distance caught his eye. He turned to follow the setting sun. His attention snapped back to the east. There it was again. What was it?

“Perfect timing,” said Donald as the first of many relief planes made its final approach into Logan Airport.

“Happy New Year, my friends!” Sarge toasted.

“Choose freedom!”

PART THREE

January–February 2017

Chapter 21

Monday, January 9, 2017

10:00 a.m.

100 Beacon

Boston, Massachusetts

Donald was feeling good as C-130 aircraft from around the world rolled into Logan Airport without a hitch. In a world without power, it became very quiet. The slightest hum of a generator or the movement of a vehicle instantly drew attention. The airplanes’ arrivals and takeoffs were heard for many miles.

Without the ability to spread information via a mass communication network, the survivors in Boston relied upon word of mouth to disseminate information between them. After the Boston airlift began, as Donald called it, people began to flock to the banks of the Boston Channel in South Boston despite the wintry cold weather. They simply wanted to catch a glimpse of an airplane, something that used to routinely fly overhead unnoticed—something normal.

Each day, hundreds of people would appear at the shoreline, carrying lawn chairs and blankets. Campfires would be lit at night as Bostonians waited for the next plane. They didn’t know what the massive transports contained—all they knew was that something was happening. They also knew they weren’t subject to arrest for being there. They were free again.

Donald and a contingent of the Mechanics rallied at Fisher College adjacent to 100 Beacon. Supplies and food obtained by Steven from the Boston Food Bank raid were stored here. As the planes arrived, the entire block between Beacon Street and Storrow Drive, extending down to Clarendon Street, became a massive storage facility for Donald’s procurement operations.

As the M35 transport vehicles rumbled along Back Street toward their destination, Donald thought about the relief effort. He recalled the violence associated with handing out supplies to residents following Hurricane Katrina and Super Storm Sandy. Following these storm events, food and fresh water was scarce, and the government was overwhelmed. As FEMA arrived to provide a few supplies to a large number of people, hostilities broke out.

Donald had a theory as it applied to the present situation. After Katrina and Sandy, Americans were ingrained with a sense of entitlement. Those affected by the devastating storms thought they were entitled to disaster relief. Today, he hoped the survivors of the aftermath from the collapsed power grid would be appreciative of what they were receiving.

The Mechanics were each given specific locations where the largest populations of survivors were centered. He did not allow the trucks to enter neighborhoods deemed unsafe. The neighborhood leaders of the Mechanics met on a regular basis and could identify down to a city block which parts of the city were controlled by gangs. Sarge agreed that the residents who were willing to recognize the rule of law and reestablish a peaceful society would receive supplies first. Others would have to make a choice between a continued life of criminal enterprise or a productive life as a law-abiding citizen.

Donald’s caravan made its way toward the waterfront in South Boston. The roads were empty. The only movement visible was a few dozen people walking through Boston Common and a few on bicycles, dodging the melting snow. Once in a while a dog would run down a side street to yell at the trucks’ tires.

The trucks had little difficulty moving supplies to their appointed destinations. Occasionally, someone would attempt to stop them by waving their arms in the middle of the street. The soldiers quickly and peacefully removed the survivor and advised them about the closest relief stop. Undoubtedly, he would tell others and the word would spread.

One of today’s goals was to recruit local residents dedicated to assisting their fellow survivors. A system had to be established for distributing food and supplies through networks of private individuals and volunteers. The most efficient way to do this was to establish neighborhood leaders, who could then choose block captains willing to focus their energies on improving conditions for as many people as possible.

The second goal was to find skilled workers who could help with rebuilding the city. Once again, volunteers would be utilized, but some people would be recruited by Donald and paid in silver or gold for their efforts. Until a new monetary system could be established on a national level, precious metals would become the currency of choice.

The trucks pulled into the large parking lot adjacent to the North Jetty Pier overlooking East Boston. As Donald’s Humvee led the way, the people began to scatter. Some of the men drew guns and sought cover behind the concrete barricades.

“No. No. No!” said Donald to his driver. “What are they doing?”

The driver pulled to a halt and the other vehicles behind them fanned out to provide defensive cover. Shortly thereafter, weapons were pointed in both directions. After a moment, Donald understood. These people had grown accustomed to hiding from the heavy-handed UN troops. They had grown fearful of their government and the tactics used against them. He had to prevent this from escalating, so he took a chance.

He stepped into the slushy, melting snow produced by the sunny, above-freezing day. He walked in front of his Humvee with his hands raised and began to speak.

“Don’t shoot, please!” he shouted in the direction of the dozen or so men hidden behind the barriers. Several others huddled in groups, nervously looking for an escape route. “We’re here to help. We have food and supplies for you.”

No response. He slowly advanced. “My name is Donald Quinn, and, um, I work with Governor Baker. We have food and supplies off the airplanes. You’ve been watching. You’ve seen them, right?”

After a moment, a man responded, “How do we know this isn’t a trick?”

“Okay. Okay,” replied Donald, with his hands still raised. “Hold on!” He slowly turned to his driver and signaled to the other trucks, waving them forward and instructing them to turn around.

“Open it up, please,” he shouted to the men guarding the first M35. They pulled aside the curtains and dropped open the gates. The truck was stacked full of boxes of food, water, and blankets. “Bring me a few boxes.”

Donald opened them up to display peanut butter, crackers, oatmeal, beans, rice, and vitamins. “Can you see?” asked Donald as he lifted up a couple of jars of Duerr’s Peanut Butter from England. “It’s peanut butter, all the way from England! Come on, you guys, seriously, we’re here to help.”

Gradually, the men lowered their weapons and cautiously came from behind the barriers. Donald instructed his men to lower their weapons and begin unloading the boxes of food. As they did, the Bostonians began to trust them, and the rush was on.

One box was given to each of the hungry Bostonians, including the specially designated boxes for children, which contained apple sauce, Pop-Tarts, and Healthy Choice snacks.

Most of the people did not immediately leave, opting instead to dig in to satisfy their hunger. Donald struck up as many conversations as he could with the survivors. He wanted to learn about conditions in the city and how they were managing to keep going despite the challenges they faced.

Almost all foraged. Donald heard stories of women and children walking for miles into the suburbs, seeking a home that hadn’t been looted. At times, they would stay in abandoned properties for days until the food supply was vanquished. Then they would return home.

They spoke of atrocities by the UN troops and their fellow man. Donald took notes of names and addresses of people who desperately needed medical attention. He promised to pass this on to the neighborhood leaders within the Mechanics. He urged them to be patient. He vowed that Governor Baker and their local leaders were committed to rebuilding their city.

There wasn’t selfishness. There was a sense of optimism in the words exchanged. The survivors also made a promise. They’d tell their neighbors that the tide had turned for the better. America was going to make a comeback.

Chapter 22

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

1:00 p.m.

1 PP War Room

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

“Fellas, I need an honest assessment,” started Sarge as he began the daily briefing in the 1PP war room. “I know this is an odd comparison, but I don’t want to lose control of Boston and New England by pulling our resources out too quickly. Do you remember how quickly Afghanistan and Iraq sank back into the abyss following the administration’s premature, politically driven withdrawal?”

“Of course,” replied Brad. “The difference is the American people. My men have seen the transformation in their faces and attitudes. Despite the bitter cold, Bostonians are coming together. They no longer see a brick wall ahead of them in the form of an oppressive government. They see progress and opportunity.”

Donald spoke up. “Let me echo that. I spent two days delivering supplies to various parts of the city. People are appreciative and genuinely want to be a part of the rebuilding process.”

“I’ve been in constant communication with the governors of the New England states,” said Sarge. “The temporary power supplies installed in their offices and State Houses have provided them a sense of purpose. I’m told that legislators from all over their states are moving their families into abandoned homes in their state capitals. Legislative sessions are being called and order is being restored.”

“Well, that’s the key to the recovery effort,” said Julia, who had joined the group today to discuss what she’d learned through her communications network. “It would be disheartening to local leaders, as well as their citizens, if the relief effort was stymied by criminal gangs.”

Sarge stood and wandered the room, staring at the various maps tacked to the wall. He’d seen them all before—from every conceivable perspective. Their time to wait and see was over. It was time to expand their successes. Julia broke the silence.

“Sarge, may I add one more thing?” asked Julia.

Sarge smiled and walked over and squeezed her shoulders. “Of course.”

“The New England Rebellion is contagious,” she said.

“Rebellion?” asked Sarge.

“That’s what it’s being called around the country,” she replied. “As your broadcast gets disseminated to more locations, the message is being spread loud and clear. With only a few exceptions on the West Coast, the feedback I’m receiving is positive. People are demanding similar action in their states.”

“Let’s give them what they want, one region at a time,” said Sarge. “We’ve talked about this before in general terms, but now it’s time to implement a specific strategy.”

Sarge turned his attention to Drew. “You’ve traveled across the south in recent months. What’s the attitude down there?”

“The original Citizen Corps governor, Jim Cooper from Tennessee, would probably have joined our effort. But he quit, as you guys know. When the UN troops based in Charleston took on the good ole boys of the South, they were shown a thing or two.”

“He’s right,” interrupted Brad. “Part of the reason those ships full of UN forces scampered up the coast to assist General Zhang was because they wanted to get out of the South.”

“Listen, we’re still fighting the civil war down there,” said Drew. “Many Southerners are of the mind-set that we’d be better off detached from Washington’s liberalism. Southerners are very conservative and aim to stay that way.”

“Brad, what are you hearing?” asked Sarge.

“The same,” replied Brad. “Although they are not as advanced in the recovery effort due to lack of operating transformers and power equipment, the South has managed to reconstitute their governments. Certain cities, Miami, Atlanta, St. Petersburg, and Charlotte, for example, have crime problems, but the rest of Region IV seems to be under control.”

“Julia, can you reach out to the governors of these eight states?” asked Sarge.

Julia was already ahead of him as she made several notes. “I can, but it will take some time. Most of my contacts down there have remained anonymous for fear of exposure to the government. Communications have not been established due to lack of power. I know where they’re located, I just don’t have a way to reach them from here.”

Sarge returned to the map and traced his finger from Massachusetts to Kentucky and then in a circular route around the southeast. He looked to Brad. “Are you able to contact your military colleagues throughout the southeast?”

“I can,” replied Brad. “For what it’s worth, all of the major installations in the region have commanders installed who think like we do.”

Sarge clapped his hands. “I have an idea. Drew, would you mind finding Abbie?”

“With pleasure,” replied Drew as he hustled out the door.

“He’s in love.” Sarge laughed.

“Is there any particular state you’re interested in?” asked Brad.

Sarge returned to the map. His plan involved several aspects of what they’d accomplished in the so-called New England Rebellion. He repeated the words in his mind several times a day—local, state, national.

“We need one solid, trustworthy military installation in each state,” replied Sarge.

“Consider it done, Sarge,” replied Brad. “I assume that I should have them on standby?”

“Yes. Two things. First, help gather contact information for the governors of each state and coordinate with Julia. Second, we need a secure base of operations in each state until we can get the lay of the land. Most importantly, we need a centralized military installation for handling the arrivals and departures of C-130s.”

“Fort Benning,” replied Brad. “It’s right on the Alabama-Georgia border and has a massive airstrip with a more than adequate refueling depot. The commanding general, Austin Miller, and I worked together in a Combined Special Forces operation in Afghanistan in 2013. He’s a good man and a like-minded thinker.”

“Perfect,” said Sarge. “Tell him what we’ve accomplished here, and see if he’ll be on board spearheading a southeastern recovery effort. We’ll use a hub-and-spoke approach. Benning will receive the supplies and equipment. It will then be distributed throughout the southeast.”

Julia took the marker and circled the center point of the Georgia-Alabama state line. “Is this about right, Brad?”

“Exactly.”

She immediately started drawing lines to Nashville, Frankfort, Jackson, Tallahassee, and the other southern state capitals. A hub with eight spokes filled the yellow portion of the map of the Unites States.

Drew returned with Abbie, who waited to be addressed.

“Abbie, duty calls,” said Sarge immediately as he pulled out a chair at the table, inviting her to join them. Drew stood dutifully behind her. “How would you like to trade in your senator’s title for that of ambassador or emissary?”

“Well, it depends. Am I being sent to some exotic locale, like Tahiti? And may I take a friend?” She laughed as she reached behind her to take Drew’s hand.

“No, and yes.” Sarge laughed. “Yes, with respect to a friend. No, with respect to exoticness, if that’s even a word. My students would have straightened me out if it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, we sure don’t know.” Donald laughed.

“Seriously,” started Abbie, getting back to business. “What do you have in mind?”

Sarge returned to the map and used a marker as a pointer. “We need to duplicate what we’ve accomplished in New England. The governors in the southeastern states need to be advised face-to-face about our plans for recovery.”

“I know most of them,” said Abbie.

“Good,” said Sarge. “I’ll have Donald get the next wave of supplies and equipment ready for their state capitals. Brad will secure the military installations and Julia will set up the meetings.”

“How am I supposed to get there?” asked Abbie.

“I’m gonna ask your dad for the keys to the Sikorsky.”

Chapter 23

Sunday, January 22, 2017

4:00 p.m.

1PP

Boston, Massachusetts

He and the President of the United States were in a race to win over the confidence of the American people. The President had the advantage of international contacts and the bully pulpit. Sarge had a sincere hope of message and renewal, together with a track record of results.

Sarge also had another thing going for him. The contacts established by the Boston Brahmin throughout the world were invaluable to Sarge. He was able to call in many markers owed to John Morgan, accumulated through years of accommodations and wealth creation. Regardless of the means by which these duties to the Boston Brahmin were owed, Sarge was channeling the favors toward the recovery effort.

The President was putting forth his full effort into the West Coast, which puzzled Sarge. If one were to look at a political map from the last election, there were plenty of blue states spread across America. Granted, Sarge was not in an election battle. But he was unsure why the President wasn’t allocating the resources of the nation to those that would be inherently loyal to him.

Sarge visibly shrugged off the thought and turned his attention to Donald and Julia, who were discussing the expansion of their nationwide communications system.

“In order to expand into the smaller communities, we need to create a network of transmission repeaters that are solar charged,” started Julia. “The repeaters we have coming from Japan will serve that purpose.”

“How do they work?” asked Donald.

“Basically, a radio repeater is a combination of a radio receiver and a radio transmitter that receives a low-level signal and boosts it to a higher power level. This enables us to retransmit the signals over longer distances without degradation.”

“Does it work with all types of equipment?” asked Donald.

“Yes,” replied Julia. “Repeaters can be used in analog, digital, or conventional broadcasts. The best part about these units is their dual band capabilities. They’ll repeat the signal in the UHF law enforcement bands, which include the four-hundred frequencies, as well as the VHF high bands in the one sixties.”

Donald picked up a Baofeng UV-5R Dual Band portable radio. At a weight of one pound, the Baofeng was the most compact handheld receiver available.

“I’ve ordered thousands of these,” said Donald. “They’ll be distributed to state government personnel and law enforcement within two weeks in the southern half of the country and New England.”

Sarge was in a trance as he twirled a globe retrieved from his study. He slowed it down as the United States appeared, and then he turned it again.

“We need a bigger system,” said Sarge.

“What do you mean?” asked Donald.

“The President has a huge advantage in communications because of satellites. When he broadcasts his messages, they are capable of going worldwide and to terrestrial radio bands, like AM. He has a broader reach, and with his gift of pulling the wool over the public’s eyes, it gives him the messaging advantage.”

“Do you want me to commandeer a satellite? Just give me the word, boss.” Donald laughed.

“Well, NASA is in friendly territory—Florida and Texas,” quipped Julia.

“C’mon, guys, hear me out.” Sarge chuckled. “Think about DirecTV. They have communications satellites that are geostationary in low-Earth orbit. They revolve around Earth at the same angle and velocity. To our eye, they appear fixed in the sky.”

“Are you saying it’ll be easier to snatch?”

“Donald,” said Sarge with the tone he was practicing to be used on his unborn child someday.

“It’s like the HughesNet system we have set up here and at 100 Beacon,” interrupted Julia before Donald got a spanking. “What are you thinking?”

Sarge returned to the globe and began spinning until he stopped at Russia. He tapped his finger on the large country.

“Putin hates this President,” said Sarge. “I believe with a little bit of encouragement, financially of course, he’d stick a needle in the administration’s eye by allowing access to one of their comms satellites.”

“That could be a game changer,” said Donald, who became serious. “Even if the access is in the lower frequency bands for mobile phones or radio broadcasts, we could reach millions of Americans rather than just those huddled around ham radios.”

Sarge picked up an iPhone, which had been discarded on one of the shelves. He held it up. “Imagine if we could set up a system where text messages could be delivered phone-to-phone via the satellite’s receiver antennas and then relayed back to earth. Even if it wasn’t sent to a specific cell phone, we could send out a text message blast on virtually any subject.”

“I like it,” said Donald. “So what kind of incentive package do I need to put together for Vlad?”

Chapter 24

Friday, January 27, 2017

4:00 p.m.

1PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

“Henry, how much did you have to give up to encourage President Putin?” asked Morgan as he accepted a glass of scotch from Sarge. He took in the aroma. “A hint of ripe fruits, maybe vanilla.” Morgan took a taste and smiled.

“Katie found this stashed away in the safe house where O’Brien was hiding with Lau,” said Sarge. “It’s a twenty-one-year-old Matisse, inspired by the famous French artist.”

“Very smooth, young man. Please tell her thank you from me.”

“I will. She’s heading to Ohio to search for Steven’s killer.”

“Henry, perhaps you should consider letting this matter pass. Miss O’Shea is a talented operative who could be of better use elsewhere.”

Sarge stayed silent for a moment as the two men took another sip of their drinks. As the ten weeks had passed since Steven’s death, Sarge focused more on his brother’s life than the events leading up to his death. But Katie was relentless. She saw this as an opportunity to redeem herself in the eyes of the Loyal Nine. Sarge doubted he could get Katie focused on another task until this matter was resolved.

“Perhaps,” said Sarge. “She’s off to Ohio on a lead.”

“Why Ohio?” asked Morgan.

“Apparently, she found some cryptic notes written in O’Brien’s diary, which indicate a possible Ohio connection. She insisted that this was something she had to do, so I let her go.”

“She’ll be back,” said Morgan dryly. “And what do you plan to do with our guests?”

Sarge hadn’t come up with a solution yet for the disposition of O’Brien and Lau, who were safely locked away in the stockade of 1PP. O’Brien knew too much as a result of his own interrogation of Lau. Clearly, Lau needed to stay put. As for O’Brien, Steven would simply take care of him. Sarge wasn’t Steven, yet.

“Releasing either one of them could have a devastating impact on us,” said Sarge. “Setting aside the fact the President would use the information elicited from them against you and the Boston Brahmin, the scandal would completely derail our recovery efforts.”

Morgan took another sip of scotch and looked at Sarge over his glass. Sarge knew what he was thinking, and he wasn’t going to reject the idea, but he just wasn’t prepared to kill someone because they knew too much.

“Henry, I have a suggestion,” started Morgan. “Would it be fair to say that O’Brien is guilty of treason by giving aid and comfort to the enemy?”

Sarge leaned back in his chair and thought before answering. The UN troops did commit crimes against U.S. citizens, which could arguably make them an unwelcome occupying force on United States soil. O’Brien was in cahoots with them.

“I can agree with that. Also, I’m sure I can find a few violations of the President’s Declaration of Martial law to hang around his neck.”

Morgan smiled and nodded. “Would the penalties not be the same for both offenses?”

“Death, imprisonment, or banishment from the country, which was often used in the early nineteenth century,” said Sarge.

“I’ve heard that Campobello Island off the coast of northern Maine is lovely this time of year.” Morgan laughed as he enjoyed the last sip of scotch. The high temperatures on this Canadian island just off the easternmost tip of the United States stayed well below freezing in mid-January.

“Being banished to Canada doesn’t sound so bad.” Sarge laughed. “All the Hollywood types used to threaten to move there if they didn’t get their way politically.”

“Good riddance,” said Morgan as he flexed the fingers on his right hand. He was continuing to have difficulty with that side of his body. Sarge continued to finish the discussion about the prisoners.

“Lau is another matter,” said Sarge. “He insists he’s kept silent except for the information forced out of him by O’Brien. Naturally, you weren’t implicated because he didn’t know you. The only people he can identify are Steven and Malcolm Lowe, whom we’ve been unable to locate.”

“Perhaps a change of scenery for him as well,” suggested Morgan.

“Well, he speaks fluent Korean, and he has family there.”

Morgan nodded and then came full circle in their conversation. “Henry, what about Putin?”

“Nothing.”

“What did you have to give up?”

“Nothing,” repeated Sarge. “He didn’t even have to think about it. Although he struggles with English, he said, quote, ‘It would be my pleasure.’”

“No surprise there.” Morgan laughed.

“Sir, is it un-American to admire President Putin?” asked Sarge.

“Not at all, Henry. President Putin hasn’t always viewed the United States as an enemy. It’s true that his worldview saw Russia losing when the U.S. benefitted from a geopolitical issue, and vice versa. But in recent years, he has lost respect for our country, as he perceives this administration as weak.”

Sarge poured them another round. The men clinked glasses and Morgan continued. “You learned that the President of the Russian Federation will always respond in kind to a man he respects. He admires strength. But do not forget, he will expect a reasonable accommodation in the future.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Sarge.

“Now, tell me how the relief effort is going.”

“We’re learning as we go—stubbing our toes as we go,” started Sarge. “Our primary focus has been on coordinating the international response with the local and state governments. Building back the state-level governments requires increasing their ability to govern following the departure of the federal agencies, which are often present in disaster settings due to their increased manpower, expertise, and funding. With aid flowing into the Southern states and New England from countries around the globe, it requires a tremendous coordinated effort. Lack of communication has been a hindrance, and my arrangement with Russia will ease those obstacles.”

Julia gently knocked on the door and stuck her head into the war room. “Boys, dinner’s almost ready.”

Morgan laughed. “Come here, young lady,” he said, gesturing for her to come closer.

Julia smiled and approached him.

He reached his hand up and asked, “May I?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling. It had become a common occurrence as she began to show. “J.J. thinks I’m about halfway.”

Morgan nodded. “It feels like another Sargent boy.”

Chapter 25

Monday, January 30, 2017

9:00 a.m.

Massachusetts State House

Boston, Massachusetts

Donald and Sarge attracted a lot of attention as their entourage of security personnel entered the grand foyer. Donald was in awe of the bustling activity in the Massachusetts State House. Less than ninety days ago, the governor and most of the legislature were being held by O’Brien and the UN troops. Today, men and women in suits were speaking in the halls, laughing and trading stories. Through Donald’s efforts, power was restored to the complex, allowing the government to resume its functions.

Donald recalled the many prepper fiction books he’d read while he was away in prison. He’d easily read a book every two days. It started with the nonfiction books sent to him by Susan, courtesy of his benefactor, John Morgan. But as his interest in the subject of preparedness grew, he sought out the fictional point of view of authors who wrote post-apocalyptic books. Each had their own perspective, but the commonality was placing diverse characters in a post-collapse world.

He remembered a phone conversation he had with Susan one evening. “You know,” he’d said to her. “All of these books throw the characters into the shit and write about how they survive. But none of them reveal how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again after the great fall.”

Donald knew enough about history and political science from Sarge to realize that nation-building was wholly different from nation-rebuilding. Perhaps that was why most prepper fiction authors never addressed the subject and ended their books with the good guys simply walking off into the sunset, holding hands.

In the real world, Donald quickly realized a focus on recovery would have to consider the mutual dependence of public works with private industry. Governments bought things from private companies. In a post-collapse world, this engine of commerce ceased to function and exist. It had to be retooled one component at a time.

New England was their testing ground. After the collapse of the grid, the Loyal Nine focused their efforts on restoring order and reestablishing lawful governments. After that, law enforcement and medical facilities took priority. This ensured relief supplies could be distributed to those in need. All of these steps were logical and could be performed using organizational skills and manpower.

But the recovery process of restarting energy transmission and distribution systems required a viable private sector to put the nation back together. In the past, left-leaning Presidents pushed social-liberal solutions administered by the federal government. President Roosevelt began the practice with the New Deal in the thirties. The current President patterned his recovery plan after the financial crisis of 2008 with a massive infusion of printed money into the economy, resulting in higher deficits.

Both of these government-backed approaches resulted in economic bubbles prepared to burst. The New Deal was saved by the increase in industrial production brought about by World War II. This administration’s policies were bailed out by the cyber attack.

Morgan, Sarge, and Donald discussed this topic at length. Admittedly, the three men were not economists. They did believe, however, in free market economies. Our nation was founded on these principles, and this was an opportunity to start over.

In its purest form, the government imposed few or no restrictions on buyers and sellers. A purely free market economy didn’t exist in the world today. All nations imposed some level of central government control and regulations over commerce. New England would be an opportunity to create a public-private partnership at the local level without the heavy-handed regulations imposed by the federal government. The last time Donald checked, all of the bureaucrats at the Environmental Protection Agency were out of the office.

“Good morning, Governor,” said Donald as he greeted Governor Baker and three members of his staff. “It appears to be a busy day in the State House.”

“That it is,” said Governor Baker. “Sarge, it’s an honor to see you again. Let me once again express my condolences for the loss of your brother. He gave his life for his country and saved the lives of most of the people in attendance today.”

“Well, thank you,” said Sarge.

“I, um, we can’t thank you folks enough for everything you’ve done for the great state of Massachusetts and all of New England,” continued Governor Baker. “I’m anxious to hear your proposals for restoration of essential services.”

“Let’s get started, then,” said Donald. The aides led Governor Baker and Donald into a conference room where several legislators and members of the cabinet awaited. After exchanging some pleasantries, Donald turned the floor over to Sarge, who began the presentation with a brief summary of their approach.

“Our primary focus after order was restored was to provide much-needed relief to the surviving citizens of Massachusetts and all of New England,” started Sarge. “Our successes in Boston have been replicated in the Southeastern United States. Other parts of the country still are looking to the administration for guidance, but they are losing confidence in the federal government’s response.”

Governor Baker interrupted. “Sarge, I’ve had limited communications with the President’s staff. They claim to have a recovery plan in place and that we should remain patient while it’s implemented.”

“In the dead of winter in a post-collapse America, patience means more dead New Englanders,” Sarge bristled. Donald knew his friend well. Sarge was incredulous that these politicians would even consider relying upon the hollow promises of this President.

“Let’s hear what he proposes,” said Lieutenant Governor Karyn Polito. “If we look around us, everything positive is a result of this gentleman’s leadership, not an absentee president leading from behind.

“Thank you,” said Sarge, who seemed to relax. “We must first reestablish power to as many communities as possible. If we were starting completely from scratch, we’d probably scrap many of the mechanisms that caused our grid to fail in the cascading manner it did. Power companies, in the interest of producing cheap energy, worked to centralize electric generation in a handful of substations, all of which relied upon the others. The cyber attack effectively collapsed a few substations, resulting in the failure of the entire interconnected grid.”

Governor Baker set down his coffee and asked, “This raises an interesting point. How do we restore the grid and modify the system to prevent this from happening again?”

“We have a proposed plan to create microgrids throughout New England to be built in conjunction with location-specific power plants dedicated to government facilities, for starters,” replied Sarge.

“How does that work?” asked Governor Baker.

“Each government facility, like this State House, will be retrofitted to produce its own power via solar generation,” replied Sarge. “The same system was put into place in Fort Collins, Colorado, before the collapse. Private residences and buildings were equipped with solar arrays and smart technology to allow energy to be consumed within the premises and excess energy to be distributed back to the grid.”

“The system was first developed in Japan following the Fukushima disaster in 2011,” interjected Donald. “Between the earthquake and the nuclear plant meltdown, the cities suffered power breakdowns and a collapse of their critical infrastructure. Hitachi designed a system to minimize the cascading effect of such a catastrophic event.”

Several of the attendees spoke among themselves for a moment, generally smiling and nodding with approval.

Sarge continued. “And so Hitachi’s electricity system is designed to provide uninterrupted service to critical systems like governmental buildings, water pumps, and hospitals in the event of an emergency. To do that, it relies on several battery storage sites as well as a microgrid, which facilitates the sharing of electricity and can operate in isolation of the main grid. A command center in the basement floor of the State House, for example, would oversee the microgrid and track exactly where electricity is being consumed and generated.”

“Sarge, how does the microgrid concept protect us from the cascading failures?” asked Governor Baker.

“We are talking about creating microgrids that, while connected to the main grid, can function somewhat independently,” replied Sarge. “The computer servers would not be interconnected, similar to the system established at the Hoover Dam. It takes the cascading threat away and allows us to restore power to the most highly populated areas first.”

“Also,” added Donald, “by adding electricity storage capability from the large-scale options like compressed air or big battery arrays on down to even the household or smart-appliance level, we would eliminate some of the problems the grid has with dispatching power where and when its needed.”

“Sounds complicated, but I like it,” said Governor Baker.

“Apparently, it worked in Japan and Colorado,” added Lieutenant Governor Polito.

Donald and Sarge smiled at each other. Then Governor Baker had one last question.

“How’re we gonna pay for it?”

Chapter 26

Saturday, February 11, 2017

9:30 a.m.

100 Beacon

Boston, Massachusetts

Sarge and Julia lay in their bed at 100 Beacon for the first time in three months. Although their bungalow at 1PP had become a cozy place to ride out this apocalyptic storm, 100 Beacon was home. When Sarge told Julia that he wanted to do his broadcast from here and spend the weekend away from the activity of Prescott Peninsula, she was thrilled.

Boston was beginning to return to normal, or at least as normal looked in the nineteenth century. Power was being restored to pockets of the city, and clean water was being pumped to highly populated areas. Incidents of crime had dropped to pre-collapse levels. Gone were the protests and accompanying societal unrest. Jobs associated with the rebuilding effort provided wages to those willing to work, which translated to less petty theft. Overall, pride was being restored in the souls of Bostonians.

“We still have lots of work to do,” said Sarge as he held Julia in his arms. “The Sun Belt states from Texas to North Carolina are seeing the same results that we’ve experienced in New England.”

“What’s next?” asked Julia.

“We’ve got to tie the two regions together, which means everything from New York to Virginia has to be brought into the fold,” replied Sarge. “It’s gonna require a lot of fortitude on the part of the military and the burgeoning ranks of the Mechanics to gain control of cities like New York, Philly, Baltimore, and ultimately, D.C.”

“Do you have a strategy?”

“Well, negotiation probably won’t work.” Sarge laughed. “Sadly, it’ll take an overwhelming force coupled with the assistance of local residents to flush out the worst criminal gangs in these cities. New York and Washington will be the most difficult, from the intel I’ve received.”

Julia snuggled into Sarge’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. He was the same man she’d fallen in love with many years ago. Once they’d rekindled their relationship two Christmases ago, she vowed to never let go of him.

Now, Sarge was elevated, albeit reluctantly, to a position of a world power broker. He was the new John Morgan, and he instantly gained the respect of world leaders and financiers. Sarge had taken on an additional role. It would’ve been much simpler for him to use the collapse of the grid for profit. But he loved his country. He saw this crisis as an opportunity to set the United States on solid footing. Sarge was using his newfound power for a noble purpose, and she was proud of him.

She scratched his chest as they lay there in the early morning light. Julia’s breathing deepened as she rubbed her hands down Sarge’s arms, where she found his right hand and fiddled with his fingers. Julia mindlessly twirled the ring around his pinky finger as she enjoyed the moment.

Ring!

“Sarge,” whispered Julia. “Um, what’s this?”

“Nunya.”

“Sarge,” she insisted.

“What?”

“Please don’t make me break your fingers to get an answer.”

Sarge pushed himself up in bed and pulled the ring off his finger. He turned back to Julia, who’d pulled the covers up to her chin in eager anticipation of what was about to happen next. Sarge had tears in his eyes, which caused Julia’s eyes to well up.

“Julia, that night in December when we had dinner together at Stephanie’s, I knew that you were more than my best friend. You were the love of my life.

“Since then, I can’t stand to be apart from you. I look forward to unwinding with you at the end of a hectic day—sharing our thoughts and dreams.

“You’re the one that cares for me during times of sadness when I’m troubled, and you, my love, are the only one that matters when we celebrate triumphs. I never tire of holding you close, having you beside me when I go to sleep, or waking up next to you every morning.

“My life would be over without you—the most important and beautiful part of my existence. You’re the kind of woman every man dreams of marrying, and I’d be proud to make you my wife.

“Julia, will you marry me?”

Chapter 27

Friday, February 17, 2017

8:00 p.m.

Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Sarge rolled his head and neck over his shoulders to ease some of the tension. Over the past several months, he’d made several addresses to the nation. None had been broadcast as widely as this one, nor were the others near as important.

The repeaters had been put into place in strategic locations from Albany, New York, to Richmond, Virginia. Julia put the word out via the Digital Carrier Pigeon that a major address was coming and that all patriots in the central Atlantic states should listen and then tell their friends.

Sarge started out by detailing their successes in New England and the Southeastern United States. The central locations of Boston and Atlanta had become centers of trade and commerce. Jobs were available to the able-bodied willing to work, and relief supplies were distributed to those who weren’t.

He shared the news that Texas was now actively assisting in the recovery effort after they’d dispatched the UN forces back into Mexico. Through Abbie’s negotiating efforts with Governor Abbott, they’d suggested Arkansas, Missouri, and Oklahoma join the Texas Interconnection, an autonomous power grid that was unaffected by the cyber attack.

Tonight, Sarge had the ear of the entire East Coast and much of the Midwest located east of the Mississippi. For the first time, he was speaking from a prepared script. His words were carefully chosen. “Be ready, my friends. The time has come for us to confront the common enemies of man—tyranny and oppression. Choose freedom is more than just a slogan. Now it’s a call to arms for all freedom-loving Americans who are ready to take their country back and restore America to its former glory.

“To the patriots in the Empire State, remember Excelsior—ever upward. My fellow Americans in Philadelphia, where the First Continental Congress was held, remember that you stand for virtue, liberty, and independence. For Virginians young and old, sic semper evello mortem tyrannis—thus always shall you bring death to tyrants.”

Sarge repeated the key phrases intended for the Mechanics in the pivotal states of New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia. These code words put them on alert. It was time. One if by land, two if by sea.

“This evening, I’m talking about the fate of our nation, the direction of our country, and our children’s future. Many Americans have perished and others have been stripped to their core. Despite our tragedies, I ask you to be tenacious in your desire to restore freedom. Remain steadfast in your purpose to bring back our republic.

“We are Americans, and therefore, we are winners. We’ve always admired the best ballplayers or the first to break certain ethnic or gender barriers. Throughout our history, we’ve fought battles and won. The thought of losing is wholly unacceptable to most of us. As a people, we are proud and courageous. Remember, your bravery encourages the bravery of your fellow patriot. Have comfort in knowing that the man next to you is willing to fight for this nation every bit as much as you are. Together, we will persevere!

“Always choose freedom! Stay strong, and God bless America!”

Chapter 28

Monday, February 20, 2017

1:00 p.m.

1PP War Room

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Sarge paced the floor as he waited for news from the communications room and Julia. She’d thrown him out over an hour ago after he’d asked, “Heard anything?” for the tenth time. Early this morning, the Mechanics began a series of tactical operations against the Citizen Corps headquarters located in New York and Philadelphia.

FEMA Region II, which comprised the states of New York and New Jersey, was coming around. Sarge’s message to choose freedom had resonated with the vast majority of the survivors across the region. In the early days following the collapse, as Steven and Katie returned to Boston from Washington, they’d encountered many patriots in the small towns of New York. There were even some who’d embraced the movement and placed Rebellious flag tattoos on their arms.

The enormous task of liberating Newark, New Jersey and New York City was daunting. The regional governor, the current mayor of New York, was a socialist and a close ally of the President’s. The mayor, nicknamed Mayor Selfie for his penchant of globe-trotting and elbow-rubbing with celebrity politicians, enjoyed the power afforded him as a Citizen Corps governor.

Unlike many of the other regional governors, Mayor Selfie embraced the use of the United States military forces to subdue the citizens of his region. Over time, however, many of the soldiers out of Fort Dix refused to raise their weapons against fellow Americans, and they left their posts to return to their families.

Mayor Selfie brought the rogue elements of the Army and assigned them to be his personal security detail. Also, they were specifically tasked to ensure equality between the citizens—simply take from the rich and give to the poor.

Brad informed Sarge that he’d found a mole within the mayor’s inner circle. For three weeks, via Brad’s contacts at Fort Dix, they were able to establish a pattern of activities and movements undertaken by Mayor Selfie and his team.

In the next seventy-two hours, covert teams of the Mechanics, trained by Drew, would enter New York City, rendezvous with like-minded patriots hidden within the five boroughs, and initiate a plan to attack the Citizen Corps regime on many fronts. The war for New York would begin.

Sarge’s challenge in Philadelphia was a bigger one. The Citizen Corps governor in Region III was the son of the former Vice President. He was beloved by much of the region as a former soldier, as well as having the sympathies of many after the tragic death of his father at the time of the cyber attack.

Overtaking the Philadelphia offices of the Citizen Corps might dislodge the governor from his post, but it wasn’t likely to rally the citizens of Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland who were loyal to him. While the states of Virginia and West Virginia were clearly pro-Sarge, the path to liberating the disaster that had become of Washington, D.C., began with the suggested cooperation of Citizen Corps Governor Hunter Borden.

Sarge owned a copy of Vom Kreige, translated On War, written by notorious Prussian general and military strategist Carl von Clausewitz. General von Clausewitz stressed that there was a moral and political aspect to war, which was just as critical to winning as the use of force.

Needing to stay occupied as he awaited news, Sarge looked for this renowned treatise on the philosophy of war and found it on the war room’s bookshelves. He thumbed to the first of several bookmarked pages and then read a passage aloud.

“Tactics is the art of using troops in battle; strategy is the art of using battles to win the war.”

A military man might interpret this to mean the implementation of strategy by short-term decisions on the movement of troops and employment of weapons on the field of battle.

Sarge had a different interpretation, one that made sense in the ideological war being fought. As he attempted to drive the disciples of tyranny from power, he would use a combination of military successes and political victories.

In the case of New York, a tyrannical, socialist Citizen Corps governor could only be removed by force. However, in Philadelphia, the home of Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, only a bold political maneuver would gain the confidence of the leader and the respect of the citizens of the region.

Drew Jackson was leading the operation, which was underway as Sarge waited. This was step one of a strategy that would impress General von Clausewitz. Sarge would then have to prove that he was a consensus builder.

Julia entered the room unannounced, and she was smiling. “Sarge, I just heard from Drew. Borden and his family are secured. Not happy, but secured.”

Sarge let out a sigh of relief. Kidnapping the sitting Citizen Corps governor and his family was a logistical challenge. Because Philadelphia wasn’t as strategically important as New York or Washington in the Central Atlantic region, Borden didn’t enjoy the levels of military security afforded his counterpart in New York. Still, it was not an easy task and Drew was proving himself to be an excellent operator, just like Steven was.

“Come here,” said Sarge as he took a step toward Julia. “I’m sorry if I drove you nuts.”

“No problemo.” Julia laughed as she hugged Sarge and kissed him on the cheek. “There’s a lot going on today, after all.”

“Tomorrow is just as difficult as today’s operation,” said Sarge. “We’ll be lighting a couple of powder kegs that are sure to get the attention of our President. Do you have the broadcast network set up for Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Delaware?”

“Not a hundred percent,” replied Julia. “But it’s good enough to reach the vast majority of the citizens in the suburbs and rural areas. I have an idea that might help us reach the inner city neighborhoods of Philly and Baltimore without risking the lives of our people. Borden could help.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s air-drop some leaflets,” replied Julia. “It’s a form of psychological warfare used since the hot air balloons flew over Paris in the late eighteen hundreds. The Brits used low-flying aircraft to drop aerial postcards over German trenches in an attempt to convince the Germans to surrender. Just a couple of years ago, leaflets were dropped throughout Syria to deter possible ISIS recruits from joining their cause.”

“I like it,” said Sarge. “How could Borden help?”

“Symbolically, if we could print at least one batch on the parchment paper at Franklin’s Print Shop in downtown Philadelphia, we can remind people of our nation’s founding. Of course, I’ll have to generate the rest on our copy machine here at 1PP.”

Sarge thought for a moment and then picked up Vom Kriege. He carefully placed it back on the shelf. Times changed, and so did the principles of war. However, political warfare carried forward one central premise—one of the best ways to overcome an adversary is to make him a friend.

Chapter 29

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

9:00 a.m.

Kirby Episcopal House at Glen Summit

Mountain Top, Pennsylvania

At its cruising speed of one hundred sixty miles an hour, it took Morgan’s Sikorsky S-76 less than two hours to arrive at the Kirby Episcopal House near Mountain Top, Pennsylvania. Flying low across the Poconos, Sarge studied the snow-covered ground and wondered how many people were able to survive the winter.

The remote area of central Pennsylvania located southwest of Scranton was chosen because of Borden’s father’s familial ties there. The Vice President was born in Scranton and frequently used this fact during his national political campaigns although he’d been a resident of Delaware for decades. Sarge wanted to remind Borden of the importance of family to his dad, and the roots they had to Pennsylvania and the Scranton community.

He chose the Kirby Episcopal House at Glen Summit to put the Borden family at ease. This was now a very familiar local landmark operated by the Episcopal diocese. The Bordens would feel comfortable in a location that maintained full power via its solar array constructed several years prior. The Kirby House was also unaffected by the collapse. It still operated under the watchful eye of an Episcopal priest and his staff.

Kirby House was the onetime summer home of dime-store magnate Fred Morgan Kirby, the founder of a very successful chain of so-called five-and-dimes which later merged for a handsome profit with Woolworth’s, at the suggestion of Kirby’s cousin, John Morgan’s grandfather.

After the Sikorsky landed, Sarge and Abbie entered the one-hundred-year-old former summer home of Kirby. Sarge was immediately struck by the fact the rooms remained decorated in their original style. After he was greeted by Drew, he was led into a parlor that was filled with Victorian wicker and photos by a famous Bostonian, Wallace Nutting, which adorned the two-foot-thick walls. An impressive elk head mounted under the elaborate plaster moldings above a roaring fire finished off the country feel.

The Kirby House had the look and ambience of a building that should host a political summit. As he waited for Borden to be brought down from his room, Sarge hoped that they could come to a meeting of the minds.

Borden entered the room with the Episcopal priest who resided in Kirby House. Sarge and Abbie rose from the sofa to greet them.

“Good morning, I am Father Dave Canan. You may call me Father Dave, or Dave, since we are among friends, I presume.”

Sarge and Abbie shook hands with the priest. “Of course, Father Dave,” said Sarge. “I’m Henry Sargent, but please call me Sarge. All my friends do.”

Abbie spoke up and introduced herself to Father Dave. She then approached a quiet Governor Borden and extended her hand. “Hunter, I’m sorry that we have to meet again under these circumstances. Please forgive us for having to use these tactics to speak with you.”

Borden shook her hand but appeared standoffish. “I’ve been assured repeatedly by Father Dave as well as my kidnappers that my family won’t be harmed.”

“We just need to spend a little time together, and then we will escort you into Scranton to visit your extended Borden family,” said Abbie. “We’ll make the arrangements to notify your security detail of your whereabouts.”

“Governor Borden, I’m Henry Sargent.” Sarge extended his hand and Borden reluctantly shook it.

“I know who you are, sir. You’re the voice behind Choose Freedom radio. You must know that you commit acts of treason against this country every time you speak out against the administration and its recovery efforts.”

“Let’s sit and talk,” said Sarge, ignoring the attack. He gestured for everyone to pick a spot.

“I’ll leave you folks alone,” said Father Dave as he began to back out of the room.

“Father Dave, actually, would you mind staying?” asked Sarge. “This conversation might be difficult at times for Governor Borden. I believe he might appreciate your presence.”

Father Dave stopped and looked down to Borden, who shrugged, indicating his approval. The two sat on a sofa across from the Queen Anne chairs occupied by Abbie and Sarge.

By prearrangement, Abbie and Sarge would play good cop, bad cop. Abbie, who had a personal relationship with Borden’s father, would handle the first part of the conversation in which she would soften up Borden. Then, once Borden had an open mind, Sarge would make the sales pitch.

“Hunter,” started Abbie, using Borden’s first name to establish a personal connection. “My father and I admired the Vice President very much. As you know, the Morgans and the Bordens have frequently seen eye to eye on many political issues. As a result, my father has been a frequent donor to your dad’s political campaigns.”

“I know, Abbie,” said Borden. “I’ve always known you to be a stand-up professional during your legal career and as an influential senator. Of course, you know my dad was extremely disappointed that he was denied the opportunity to run in the democratic primary against your running mate. He felt like he was cheated out of the opportunity that he’d earned over the last eight years.”

Sarge listened as he studied his adversary. Borden seemed like a reasonable person and Abbie’s invoking memories of his dad appeared to be working. Borden was warming to their conversation and became more relaxed under the circumstances.

“Hunter, we have a couple of difficult topics to discuss with you,” said Abbie. “The first deals with the day your dad died.”

Borden sat up in his chair and looked toward Father Dave. “What about my father’s death?”

Abbie took a deep breath and looked into the fire for dramatic effect. She shook her head and then spoke. “Hunter, we have positive evidence that your dad was assassinated.”

“Abbie, what?” asked Borden. “It was an accident. How would you know this?”

“Hunter, you and I are both lawyers,” replied Abbie. “Let me take a moment to explain what happened and why. Then, if you still doubt what I’m about to tell you, there are four eyewitnesses to this event staying in the guest rooms here at Kirby House who—”

Borden interrupted Abbie and looked to Father Dave. “Is this true? Are there other people here besides my family?”

“Yes, my son,” replied Father Dave. “As a condition of participating in this meeting, I insisted in talking to the individuals myself. I believe their hearts to be true.”

Borden slumped in his chair and stared into the fire as he became emotional. He looked around the room and finally spoke. “Tell me what you know.”

Abbie spent the next thirty minutes detailing the attack upon the Vice President’s motorcade during the campaign stop in Pennsylvania. The eyewitnesses she was prepared to produce were ready to relay the specifics of the events. Borden was shocked to learn that the Secret Service detail assigned to his dad was ordered to stand down at the ambush of the motorcade. He was incredulous when he learned the order came from the President’s staff.

“And all of this can be verified with the witnesses located in this building?” asked Borden.

“Yes, Hunter. I’m sorry.”

Borden stood up and picked up an iron poker next to the fire. Sarge instinctively reached into his suit jacket and felt for his ever-present handgun tucked into a shoulder holster. But Borden appeared calm as he stoked the fire. Sparks flew out of the fireplace onto the hearth as the flames danced once again. He carefully replaced the poker as he turned back to the group.

“I don’t know what to think about this,” said Borden. “My dad’s relationship with the President was somewhat strained during the eight to ten months prior to the cyber attack. After my brother died, Dad had resigned himself to mundane duties in support of your ticket and went on several international vacations with my mom. I don’t understand why the President would go to this extreme.”

It was time for Sarge to speak up. “I can help you there, Governor Borden. Your dad was an honorable man and would not have stood idly by as this President instituted martial law in such a radical manner.”

“I know one thing for certain,” interrupted Borden. “Dad would have lost his mind over the cancellation of elections. He may not have always agreed with his political opponents. But he was a firm believer in democracies and the right to vote.”

“He was highly respected by his peers on both sides of the aisle,” added Sarge.

Borden managed a smile, apparently thinking of his dad’s likeability. “Abbie, you and I have known each other for years. I trust what you’re telling me, and as much as I want to deny the facts, it all makes sense now.”

“I promise, Hunter,” said Abbie. “You needed to know.”

“Okay, that said,” started Borden, turning his attention to Sarge. “What do you want from me?”

Abbie looked to Sarge and nodded. “You know as much as anyone, Governor, that your dad could be rather inarticulate, at times.” Everyone laughed, easing the stress levels in the room.

“Without a doubt,” added Borden.

“But one thing he said that we can all agree upon,” started Sarge. “He said the American people, given half a chance, have never, ever, ever let their country down.”

Borden burst out laughing, even shedding a couple of tears, which he wiped off his cheeks. “That’s true, Sarge, but you’re being kind in omitting the next line after that statement, which was even after the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor.” All four of them laughed so hard that it caused Drew to enter the room unannounced to make sure everyone was safe.

After the group calmed down, Sarge made the pitch. “Governor Borden, our country is in a tough spot. It requires real leadership. There are no easy answers, but there are options. We must have the courage to do what we know is morally right. Your dad knew this, and I think you do as well.”

Borden nodded his head as he composed himself. “I like you, Sarge. I believe we can work together to set the nation on the right path. There are a lot of hurdles in the way. The President is one of those, obviously. But there is a fellow in our backyard who will be just as difficult to dislodge.”

Sarge stood to shake Borden’s hand. “New York will be experiencing a different kind of conversation today. Unfortunately, if you can’t make people see the light, you have to make them feel the heat.”

Chapter 30

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

1:00 p.m.

1PP War Room

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Brad returned to the war room, grinning from ear to ear. The rest of the group, which included Sarge, Julia, Donald, and John Morgan, were talking among themselves when Brad interrupted them.

“Well, we gave him the option.” Brad laughed. “It was a fair choice. Banishment to Campobello Island as Mr. Morgan suggested or the firing squad, which was my choice, of course.”

“Yeah, but O’Brien didn’t know that he’d never actually face the firing squad.” Julia laughed.

“That’s true,” said Donald. “It was a classic lesser of two evils choice.” It was a no-win situation for O’Brien, who chose banishment to the Canadian island as opposed to facing the certain death of a firing squad.”

The high temperatures during this time of year were around nineteen degrees. O’Brien might find a local resident who would take him in, or he might freeze to death. At least he’d have a chance in his new country of Canada.

“Now, let’s talk about Mr. Lau,” said Sarge. “I know we’ve debated this ad nauseam, but I have several potential uses for this man’s talent. Plus, despite maintaining his silence thus far, he could potentially cause us problems if he talked to the wrong people.”

Donald spoke up first. “You know how I feel,” said Donald. “The man survived the horrific explosion, and my conversations with him indicate he’d be happy to return to Korea with the bitcoins he earned last summer. We’d never hear from him again.”

“Sarge, suppose we could set up a secure location for Lau to operate,” began Brad. “What’s the likelihood of his success?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with him over the past week or so,” replied Sarge. “I believe I can trust him, and just as importantly, I think Lau’s capable of doing what I need.”

“Which is?” asked Morgan, speaking for the first time. As his health improved, he was playing a more active role in mentoring Sarge and advising him during this critical time.

“Sir, I believe, and Lau agrees, that the President’s communications systems are vulnerable while he is maintaining the administration’s primary functions in Hawaii. Washington is an absolute disaster, and with our gaining control of Regions II and III, the President doesn’t have the ability to restore order in D.C.”

Donald added, “The President seems content to maintain control over the western states anyway.”

“Exactly,” said Sarge. “If we could access his communiques, we could anticipate his next move. This will help us as we take the choose freedom message into the Midwest and FEMA Regions V, VII and VIII.”

“Okay, knowledge is power,” said Brad. “Our NSA has provided the military intel for years, which gave us the upper hand in overseas operations. I suppose Lau could be our version of the NSA.”

“I can get him set up in a room below,” said Donald. “Or would you rather him have a location in the city, heavily guarded of course.”

“Lau claims that he can’t do it alone,” said Sarge. “He needs his top assistants—the Zero Day Gamers.”

“They’re a formidable team,” added Morgan. “We will buy their loyalty, and silence. Mr. Quinn, you will make the proposal for Henry’s review.”

Donald nodded. “I will.”

“There is a large computer information systems facility at Fisher College,” said Julia. “They could be watched closely.”

Morgan stood and said, “No. I have a place which will be familiar to them. It’s state of the art. Donald, have some men see if the Framingham warehouse has been compromised. If not, it will be an ideal location. The building will need temporary power, however.”

“Okay,” replied Donald. “Sarge, what will you have them do first?”

“Brad’s contacts tell him that the President and his staff have been using older Blackberry devices. The President has established a communications network through the old PacTel phone system along the West Coast. We’re going to listen in.”

PART FOUR

March 2017

Chapter 31

Friday, March 3, 2017

8:00 p.m.

1PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Spring was showing signs of life throughout much of the country, and for those who survived the harsh winters in the northern states, a new direction was forming for their lives. They were the silent majority—freedom-loving Americans who’d worked hard to provide for their families. While others protested one grievance or another, the silent majority lamented the overreach of government but typically stood idly by until Election Day came.

The survivors, after six months of a post-collapse struggle, were ready, like spring, to grow again. The period of holding on had passed. It was time to plant the seeds of liberty and grow the harvest of freedom.

Sarge’s message in his Friday night broadcasts was resonating across the nation.

“Fellow patriots, if we are going to ask the decent, law-abiding silent majority among us to have the courage to face down this tyrannical usurping of our Constitution, we’ll have to exhibit the bravery to stand shoulder to shoulder with them when doing it.

“County by county, state by state, the American people are restoring their local governments. Your neighbors, who were duly elected into office, are returning to public service. There are still regions of the country that are held under the thumb of an administration desperate to remain in office. Hear my words.

“The president does not have the power to create or rewrite legislation—that is Congress’s job. He is not authorized to dispense with or suspend the law. British kings made this practice familiar to the Framers of the Constitution, who deliberately chose to deny such a power to the president.

“The President openly flouts his duty to faithfully enforce the law with the justification that the nation faces a catastrophe. Well, Mr. President, the winter is over. Our nation is ready to come together as one, yet you play favorites in restoring power to a chosen few.

“My message of hope and renewal comes with stories of our successes. We have driven the foreign troops from our soils in Texas, across the Sun Belt states, and up the Atlantic Seaboard. Power is being restored throughout these regions by public and private partnerships. Families are not only surviving, they’re beginning to thrive again.

“For those of you in the Midwest and across the Rockies from New Mexico to Montana, there is hope for you as well. I call on you to unify. Seek out your neighbors and join them in restoring your governments—one by one, brick by brick.

“But know this, you will not rebuild alone. Rebuilding America requires partnerships to be formed. All Americans stand with the citizens of the great states of Illinois and Iowa, Michigan and Missouri, Ohio and Idaho, in their quest for freedom.

“Restoring America to its former glory is a process that doesn’t always produce clear, quick results. The process requires problem-solving, and under the circumstances, the public trust in our government must be reestablished.

“My friends, rebuilding America is about people. Large groups do not move history, people move history. We started small in Boston. Then our movement grew. Our desire for freedom is contagious. What we have accomplished in New England, a small beginning, must serve a larger purpose nationwide.

“Tonight, my friends, I am prepared to reveal who I am. Stand shoulder to shoulder with me as we plant the seeds of liberty.

“My name is Henry Sargent. I am only one man. I am a proud American. And I choose freedom!”

Chapter 32

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

2:00 p.m.

Near Birch Pond

Saugus, Massachusetts

“Okay, Professor, what’s the next stop,” said Corporal Morrell to Lau, who was handcuffed to the backseat. Drew didn’t want to take any chances in losing the head of the Zero Day Gamers. Morrell and Drew were canvassing the Cambridge neighborhoods from Harvard to MIT, searching a variety of locations that Lau considered possible hideouts for his associates.

Lau hoped to find Leo Malvalaha and Anna Fakhri—Lau’s MIT graduate assistants who’d helped him in his initial hacking endeavors. The Zero Day Gamers had become notorious for utilizing their considerable hacking talents for personal financial gain. Their motto—one man’s gain is another man’s loss, who gains and who loses is determined by who pays—became a hacker’s cult classic, especially for those engaged in ransomware activity.

Drew continued driving north on US 1 toward Lau’s last possibility, a small home owned by Malvalaha’s brother across from Birch Pond in Saugus. Drew eased the Humvee through a blocked intersection. Morrell held his AR-15 at the ready in the event of an ambush. It was a sunny day as spring began to arrive in Massachusetts.

“Oh man, what a waste,” exclaimed Morrell, pointing to their left.

“What?” asked Drew.

“Hooters. Looks like there was a fire inside.”

“Yeah,” replied Drew. He hadn’t been in a Hooters restaurant in five or six years.

“I miss Hooters,” squalled Morrell.

Drew kept driving, frequently checking on their passenger. This entire trip could have been orchestrated by Lau to provide himself a means to escape. Lau squirmed against his restraints. Drew had cuffed his ankles and his wrists. He’d then strapped Lau into the seatbelt harness, which Drew had also cuffed closed using zip-ties. Even Harry Houdini would find it impossible to escape.

“Turn right just ahead on Walnut Street,” said Lau. The Humvee maneuvered through the intersection past Applebee’s and picked up speed on the open two-lane street. As Drew saw the lake come into view, he began to slow his progress. “Keep going, about a quarter mile until you see a bus stop sign. Then you might want to slow down.”

Drew continued to watch the road, and Lau, for any indication or sign of trouble. The bus stop bench appeared and Drew stopped just past it.

“How much further?”

Lau nodded with his head. “It’s the bluish-gray house on the other side of that utility pole. You’ll be looking for Leo and Anna.”

“What’s the brother’s name?” asked Morrell.

“I don’t know, but his last name is Malvalaha,” replied Lau.

“Ma-la-la-la-ha?” asked Drew. Morrell starting laughing.

“You Tennesseans have trouble speaking English, don’t you?”

“Aren’t you Canadian or something?” asked Drew.

“Yeah, so?”

“That’s not English.” Drew laughed. “You say the guy’s name.”

“Sure. Mavla-hala-hala.”

Drew turned in the Humvee and double-checked Lau’s restraints. He pulled his knife out of its leg sheath, causing Lau’s eyes to grow wide. Drew gave Lau a stern admonishment. “Do not try to get away. I will chase you down, cut your Achilles, and make you walk behind the truck sixty miles to Prescott Peninsula. That is if you don’t bleed to death in the process. Fair enough?”

Lau, now sweating profusely, nodded his agreement.

“Let’s go, Corporal,” said Drew.

The two men exited the Humvee and Drew locked the doors. With their weapons at low ready, they ran in a crouch along a row of pine trees that shielded their view of the saltbox home just ahead. A four-foot-tall stone wall retained the front yard from eroding onto the sidewalk in front of the house. This would provide cover. At the mailbox, a circle driveway cut through the trees to the back of the house and came out on the other side.

“I don’t like splitting up, but I have an idea,” started Drew. “Find a cover position behind the retaining wall and using that large oak just past the steps leading to the front door. I’ll scoot up the driveway and cover the rear of the house. You should have a clear line of sight to me at the rear corner.”

“Yeah, I see it,” said Morrell. “I’ll get their attention. If they start shooting, we’ll let them waste their ammo and try to talk them out. If they continue, what’s the plan?”

“Scare them out with a ton of brass,” said Drew. “Ready?”

“Move.”

“Moving,” said Drew as he ran up the driveway, keeping the trees as cover between himself and the side windows. There was no guarantee that the house was inhabited, but it was their last option.

As Drew reached the corner of the house, Morrell was already in position. Drew gave Morrell the thumbs-up.

Morrell reached down and dislodged a softball-sized stone from the retaining wall. He lobbed it onto the slate roof, which caused a tile to split and the stone to roll down the roof until it crashed onto the wooden front porch.

Morrell shouted, “Your home is surrounded by United States Marines! Come out peacefully with your hands raised!”

Drew watched and listened for any signs or movements. A rear door that led to a small one-car garage was visible to him. He looked back towards Morrell, who was using hand signals. Two fingers, eyes-to-house, two hostiles. Drew returned a thumbs-up.

“Mr. Mavla-hala-hala,” shouted Morrell. Drew smiled and chuckled to himself. “I saw the upstairs curtains move and the curtains in the bottom left room. I know people are in there. We mean you no harm. We are looking for Leo and Anna.” Morrell was providing Drew their locations.

Drew heard the sounds of footsteps running inside and a chair tipping over. Suddenly, a woman burst through the exit and began running up some concrete pavers into the woods.

“I’ve got the woman running—left side,” yelled Drew as he dashed down the back side of the house after her. He was at full speed when Leo Malvalaha ran out the back door as well, right into Drew’s path. The two men collided and Malvalaha was knocked head over heels into the garage door.

Drew retrieved his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. Malvalaha, who was doubled-up in pain, was gasping for breath. Drew scrambled to subdue him as Morrell joined the fray from inside the house.

“Clear inside,” he announced.

“Cuff this one,” said Drew as he caught his breath. “I’m going after the girl.” Drew dashed around the garage as he heard Morrell shout to him, “No weapons seen inside.”

As Drew followed the path up the hill into the woods, he couldn’t decide if Morrell’s information was comforting or if it foretold a standoff against a cornered animal with a deadly weapon at its disposal.

Drew stopped to assess his surroundings. He’d tracked people before. He assumed it was Anna running through the woods. The ground was still soft from the melted winter snow. Her footprints were distinctive and easily trackable. It didn’t appear she was trying to conceal her escape.

Drew started after her. Deeper into the woods and up the slope he climbed. Deadfall in the form of broken branches from the winter’s heavy snows and fallen leaves remained from autumn, making the trail difficult to navigate. But it would be the same for his prey. He noticed the skinned bark on the fallen limbs where she’d tried to step over them.

A crack was heard ahead, followed by the sound of a woman’s voice—a groan. She’d stumbled. Drew pressed forward, stalking her and hoping to overtake her head start. His confidence grew as he began to run up the hill now. She was not deviating from the path.

Two knees had created an indentation just ahead. She’d fallen, probably generating the groan he’d heard a moment ago. He was close. Her stride was shorter. She was walking now. Soon, he saw evidence of her feet slipping in the mud and leaves. She was tired.

And then he found her. She was leaning against the back of a large oak tree, heaving for air. She was exhausted, probably due to lack of exercise and proper nutrition. Out of precaution, Drew readied his weapon and approached her slowly, keeping the tree between them.

“Anna,” he called out.

“Gaatak dahya,” said Anna in Arabic. Go to hell!

“C’mon now, Anna,” said Drew. He continued his quiet approach as he angled himself to see her hands. Gun!

She was sitting against the trees with her legs straight in front of her. Anna was holding a thirty-eight revolver in her right hand. Drew shouldered his rifle and quietly pulled out his seven-inch hunting knife from its sheath. He returned to his roots—Slash, the nickname he earned in the backwoods of the Cumberland Plateau when he’d first mastered the use of knives.

“Tarak li,” she mumbled. Anna appeared to be delirious. She started to raise the weapon towards her head. Suicide? Drew didn’t hesitate.

Drew’s knife was fairly balanced, but leaned toward handle heavy. He gripped the blade, ready to throw it at his target. Lightning fast, he found his narrow throwing line and anticipated the positioning of the weapon. Unconsciously, from a lifetime of practice, Drew aimed and released the knife.

The knife struck the pistol and knocked it away from Anna. Drew closed the twenty feet between them in the blink of an eye and had his sidearm pulled at the same time. Anna was surprised and hadn’t moved by the time Drew was upon her, pointing the weapon at her chest.

She broke down crying. “Just kill me. I can’t hide anymore. I’m starving. Please, just end it.”

Drew found his knife and returned it to his leg sheath. He located the revolver, which only contained two bullets. He dropped them out of the cylinder and placed the weapon in his cargo pants pocket.

“Anna,” started Drew, “we’re not here to hurt you.”

“Why not?” She sobbed.

“Well, because it’s not my job,” replied Drew, who instantly revisited the dozen or so times his targets had begged for their lives before he terminated them. “Not this time, Anna.”

He approached Anna as she wiped the tears from her face with muddy hands. Drew pulled loose his shemagh and handed it to her. She ran it through her hands and looked up at Drew’s face.

“A shemagh?” she questioned.

“It was given to me by a man in Fallujah,” replied Drew. “I saved his son’s life and hurt my hand in the process. Why don’t you wipe your face and hands off and let’s go back to join the others. There’s an old friend who’s anxious to see you.”

“Huh, who?”

“Your professor.”

Chapter 33

Monday, March 13, 2017

12:20 p.m. EDT

Western White House

Honolulu, Hawaii

The President had been applauded in the past for being able to restrain his temper in public. He always lent the appearance of being calm and relaxed. While he was known to throw death glares at reporters or political opponents on occasion, and even using pointed, harsh language to express displeasure, he’d never been known to get visibly angry while under the guise of the cameras or in the public eye.

In private, however, he rarely held back. Behind the cameras and teleprompters was an angry, vicious politician who frequently snapped at his staff and his wife. On one occasion, the President cursed his top political advisor during a debate-prep session and stormed off the stage. There were rumors within the White House staff of screaming and outbursts between the President and the First Lady.

This occasion was one of the most violent exhibitions of anger his staff had witnessed in the eight-plus years of his presidency. The large, oceanfront home that had become the Western White House was elegantly furnished in traditional Hawaiian décor at the request of the President. He had fond memories of his years spent there as a child and subsequently in the island nation of Indonesia. On this day, even the tiki god statues in the office of the President were not safe from his wrath, as one went tumbling to the floor courtesy of a firm shove by the President.

The President leaned down and looked into the director of Homeland Security’s eyes. “I don’t give a fuck if they’re Americans. It’s subversive and treasonous. I want those broadcasts stopped. Now!”

“Mr. President,” said the director as he glanced at the other members of the President’s national security team gathered in the room. “We have a process, sir. Especially in light of what you’re asking. An investigation needs to be made. Charges should be filed, and then a trial.”

“I’m a lawyer, don’t lecture me on procedure!” shouted the President. “There is treason going on right under our noses. In fact, it has been for months and you’ve done nothing about it.”

“Sir, it’s free speech,” interjected the director. The President grabbed another tiki god by the throat and squeezed the wooden carving before dropping it to the floor.

Of all our constitutional guarantees, the First Amendment’s protection of speech is probably the best known but the least understood. Contrary to popular belief, the speech guarantee was never intended to allow, nor has it ever allowed, absolutely free speech in America. The Founding Fathers wrestled with this for years following the adoption of the Bill of Rights.

There are just three crimes expressly mentioned in the Constitution. Article I, Section 8, gives Congress power to punish counterfeiting and to define and punish piracy. However, Article III, Section 3, spells out that: Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort.

During the rancid political discourse that had become a part of America’s political landscape, society clamored for charges to be brought against many political foes and vocal supporters of one candidate or another. In the last twenty years, during the Bush presidency, filmmaker Michael Moore drew the ire of conservatives who demanded he be charged with treason.

The Supreme Court made it clear that speech became treason when it transcended mere words, ceasing to be communication alone, and satisfied the four requisites demanded by the Supreme Court: an overt act, testified to by two witnesses, manifesting an intent to betray the United States, and providing aid and comfort to the enemy.

Under that standard, Hanoi Jane Fonda was treasonous. Michael Moore was not. In most cases, it was an impossible stretch, logically and constitutionally, to attempt to punish speech with indictment and conviction for treason. Speech became treason when it transcended mere words.

In the eyes of a delusional, tyrannical President, all opposition was treasonous and should be met with every available means to stifle it—even overwhelming, albeit unlawful, military force.

The President stopped and stared out at the vast Pacific Ocean. “You will give me a plan by Thursday afternoon. I want this guy Sargent eradicated by Friday.”

Chapter 34

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

5:00 p.m.

1PP

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

It had been an unseasonably warm day for the Quabbin Reservoir. With temperatures spiking in the mid-fifties, Sarge and Morgan elected to climb to the top of 1PP and onto the widow’s walk. Abbie pitched a fit when her father first insisted upon the adventure. But he’d been feeling much better, quite possibly due to the break from the winter weather. He wanted the opportunity to admire spring and the sunset behind the protective railing on the roof’s platform.

After Sarge insured that Morgan reached the rooftop safely, he made his way back down the stairs and retrieved their cocktail glasses and the bottle of scotch whisky. Sarge had begun to cherish his time alone with Morgan. The man’s demeanor had changed considerably following his stroke. He seemed to appreciate life more, especially since Sarge had shown the ability to carry forward the legacy of the Boston Brahmin.

The Quinn children were still playing on the front lawn of 1PP as darkness approached. Susan looked up and waved as Sarge poured their drinks. They shared a simple toast—cheers. Morgan stood quietly for a moment. He seemed to be taking in the grandeur of spring on the Quabbin Reservoir. Leaves were returning from their fall departure and birds were singing the praises of the warmer weather and the abundance of earthworms that made their way out of the wet ground.

Morgan turned his attention toward the setting sun as he took another sip of whisky. “Henry, I’ve spent many evenings admiring the sunset from 73 Tremont. I’ve learned that high to mid-level clouds are the most effective canvases to display the colors that the sunlight is painting. Without clouds, there is no color. Too many clouds produce nothing but gray, sad skies.”

Sarge was tempted to comment on the beauty of tonight’s sunset, but he got the impression Morgan had something on his mind. He got philosophical often, a side Sarge had never experienced prior to the collapse.

“Over time, I have come to learn that power does not corrupt a man,” continued Morgan. “It’s the fear of loss of power that corrupts him. I’ve known that fear, and I vowed many years ago not to allow it to consume me. For when it does, you’re apt to make irrational, emotional decisions that are rarely error-free.”

“I understand, sir,” said Sarge as he continued to allow Morgan the opportunity to speak.

“The President is losing, and he knows it,” said Morgan. “I don’t need to pick up the phone and call him. I don’t need to have one of our many moles inside the administration confirm this for us. I know him, and the President’s frantic as he seeks solutions to stem the tide, no, the tsunami, of support you’ve generated.”

Sarge thought about this for a moment. He’d contemplated reaching out to the President in an attempt to bring this political standoff to an end. The toughest tasks were still ahead for Sarge, including what might be an all-out military assault on the Citizen Corps strongholds in the western states.

“Should I call on him to resign, privately?” asked Sarge.

Morgan shrugged. “I doubt he’d take your call. This President doesn’t know loyalty. He’s an opportunist. You can ask our allies around the world, especially in Europe. They lost respect for him many years ago.”

“We have several options at our disposal,” started Sarge. “Naturally, there is impeachment. The second is political pressure from the state governors who have been liberated from the UN occupying forces and the Citizen Corps. Another option, of course, is assassination.”

Morgan managed a grin and toasted his glass in Sarge’s direction. He took a long sip and said, “Henry, ordering the death of a man, including one you don’t like, is one of the most difficult decisions you’ll ever make. You will, however, make that call more than once in your lifetime. There will be times that leadership decapitation is a necessity.”

“I’m not afraid to make that call,” said Sarge.

“Good. When faced with this option, be aware that more often than not, failed plots to assassinate others are exposed. Failure can result in suffering incalculable damage to your reputation and respect. The key is success. Surround yourself with the best operatives, and trust them wholeheartedly, like I trusted your brother.”

Sarge nodded and refilled their drinks.

Morgan continued. “In the case of our President, assassination is not the solution. The country has suffered enough without losing its leader to violence. You’ve undertaken an ambitious, yet perfect, strategy. This nation has to be rebuilt in the same manner in which it was built, at the grassroots level.”

“Sir, it’s taking a lot of time,” said Sarge. “People are clamoring for a return to normalcy. But just as important, they are ready for our government to reassume its proper role. The President is preventing that from happening through his use of martial law.”

“I’ve given this some thought,” said Morgan. “You cannot undertake any activity that would create a constitutional crisis. The collapse of the power grid may have brought the nation to its knees, but the removal of the President by any means other than as provided by the Constitution would result in a breakdown in our government.”

The sun began to sink over the horizon and Sarge thought of his options. “We could attempt impeachment. In the last one hundred seventy-five years, one-third of our presidents have either died, become disabled, or resigned from office. However, none have ever been forced out by the impeachment process. In addition, the impeachment process plays out in Congress, which has not convened since the collapse.”

“You have another option, Henry,” said Morgan as he leaned against the rail and looked directly at Sarge. “You’ve endeared yourself to the governors and legislatures that you’ve put back into power. Use that political capital to your advantage.”

“A constitutional convention?” asked Sarge as he nodded his head.

“Certainly,” replied Morgan.

“I would need to get thirty-four states to call a constitutional convention where amendments can be proposed and, quite possibly, a neutered President who has overstayed his welcome can be removed.”

“Well, perhaps not forcibly removed; however, a special election might be an option if passed by the states,” added Morgan. “Regardless, a clear message would be sent to the President—three-quarters of this nation are prepared to remove you, one way or the other.”

Morgan handed Sarge his empty glass and made his way toward the stairwell. With the setting sun came chilled air, and on this night, a full moon was rising in the east.

Chapter 35

Friday, March 17, 2017

St. Patrick’s Day

9:00 a.m.
EDT

The New Hack House

Boston, Massachusetts

“I have to say I could get used to this,” said Fakhri, breaking a long period of silence while her fellow members of the Zero Day Gamers continued their monitoring of the PacTel communications network. For days, they’d conducted penetration testing of the servers and finally found a vulnerability. The Gamers were careful to avoid detection although it was unlikely the NSA was paying attention under the circumstances.

The President had been using the antiquated system that was a holdover from the Cold War. It was much slower than the newly installed fiber-optic cables utilized by AT&T, the primary telephone and Internet provider along the Pacific Coast. The PacTel system had been hardened against electromagnetic pulses in the eighties. The entire network also contained sophisticated, off-grid power sources that allowed it to continue operation. The only drawback was access. The system used modular jacks that accommodated the older model, rotary dial phones. Most Americans didn’t have those anymore.

“You like being held prisoner?” asked Malvalaha.

“No, of course not, Leo. I like being fed well and protected in a building with heat, air, and electricity. There are worse places to live, remember?”

Professor Lau remained quiet during the exchange. He’d been through a lot. The hospital stay had been grueling because of the painful treatments he’d had to receive. He had been tortured and mistreated by O’Brien and La Rue. At least in this prison, as Fakhri said, he was able to get some normality back in his life.

Plus, there was nothing better than computer therapy. The Zero Day Gamers truly enjoyed their old jobs of constantly seeking and exploiting weaknesses in a computer network. Initially, he and his former graduate assistants at MIT had become a part of the computer underground for the challenge and enjoyment.

Lau had eventually realized he could monetize their talents and a fledgling business had sprung out of their relationship. Soon, the three of them, together with talented MIT students, had become the Zero Day Gamers—motivated by protest and profit.

“Good morning, y’all,” announced Drew as he entered the hackers’ lair.

“Hi, Drew,” replied Fakhri. Drew and Fakhri had bonded following the abduction that day at Birch Pond. Fakhri had thought she was going to die and was touched by Drew’s courtesy and compassion. It was Fakhri who convinced Lau and Malvalaha to get used to their new role and embrace it. Besides, it was better than being on the streets.

Drew approached the three Marines who rotated shifts, watching the activities of the Zero Day Gamers. They were seasoned computer professionals from Fort Devens who monitored every keystroke undertaken on the sophisticated computer system created by Morgan’s personnel last summer. Naturally, the Gamers were familiar with the systems. They had initiated the mother of all cyber attacks on that September 3.

“The ladies back at 1PP baked fresh muffins, using canned peaches, blueberries, and apples,” said Drew as he handed them out to the Marines. He approached the Gamers as well. “Here, y’all. Enjoy.” As the muffins were passed around, Drew returned to his backpack and pulled out a Hannaford grocery bag. He handed it to Lau.

“Professor, I’m told you’re a Red Sox fan. I know there isn’t much going on in Fort Myers right now as it relates to spring training, but I’m sure we’ll see games again at some point.”

Lau stood and looked at Drew. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Over the last eight months, he went from being on his deathbed to being bandied about like a baseball during infield warm-up. Lau managed a smile through his scarred face.

The former MIT professor removed his sweater and put on the Red Sox jersey. For years, this was part of his everyday attire. It wasn’t his favorite player’s jersey, Koji Uehara. However, the simple number eight on the back brought back memories of the great Carl Yastrzemski, who wore this jersey until it was retired.

He placed the cap on his head, which was beginning to grow hair again, at least on one side. It fit perfectly. Lau squeezed the bill and adjusted its fit. With a tug of the jersey, he stood and admired himself with pride.

He looked down at Fakhri and Malvalaha, who were becoming emotional at Lau’s transformation. It felt like old times. Lau muttered, “Thank you,” to Drew, and then he gave him a hug. Lau quickly returned to his computer as the tears began to stream down his face.

Chapter 36

Friday, March 17, 2017

St. Patrick’s Day

10:00 a.m. EDT

Western White House

Honolulu, Hawaii

In stark contrast to the meeting on Monday, the President was sullen and morose, but it wasn’t exhibited in the violent outbursts that had overshadowed the Monday gathering. Rumors were rampant throughout the Western White House that the President was exhibiting symptoms of manic depression and bipolar disorder. He was rarely sleeping, and when he did, it was during odd times of the day.

The First Lady and their children had moved to a different residence on the compound. This exacerbated problems for his staff. For years, the President’s wife had had a calming effect on him. But Valerie Jarrett, his new chief of staff, became more actively involved in the day-to-day affairs of the administration. Jarrett was his new sounding board and confidante, among other things.

Today’s briefing was attended by the director of Homeland Security and General Mason J. Sears, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and their aides. General Sears was an insider for John Morgan and the Boston Brahmin until recent events. As the President became distrustful of his advisors, General Sears found himself increasingly out of the loop. Today’s meeting was an exception.

“Mr. President, I have been unable to provide you a detailed operations plan because I don’t know what the target is,” started General Sears. “Sir, you’ve told me to provide you a military option to strike a terrorist cell on American soil. That’s not much for me to work with.”

“The target is based on need to know,” gruffed the President, who swiveled his chair toward the attendees, turning his attention away from the crashing surf.

“I understand, sir,” continued General Sears. “Sir, my security clearance is the same as yours. I can’t imagine a reason why you’d—”

The President sat up in his chair and pointed his finger at General Sears. “Do you have a military option for me or not?”

“Sir, ground troops are not feasible due to our diminished capabilities,” replied General Sears. “We have the Air Force option. I could arrange a sortie from a nearby base to bomb the location.”

“What else?” asked the President.

“We could task a drone, sir,” replied General Sears. “The results would be the same.”

“Fine.”

“Sir, if I might add, however, we might have difficulty finding fighter pilots to drop bombs on Americans on American soil.”

“Don’t pilots fly the drones from Nevada?” asked the President.

“Yes, sir. But psychologically, I believe there is a difference between dropping on a target via computer monitor than eyes-on.”

The President rubbed his temples. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an amber-colored prescription bottle with no label. He took two pills and chased it with a swig of bottled water. The headaches were back, with a vengeance.

“Okay, use a drone,” ordered the President. “Mr. Secretary, you make the arrangements.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the Secretary of Homeland Security, who stood and buttoned his jacket. He immediately began to whisper instructions to his aide.

The President looked at General Sears. “Sears, you’re relieved of command. You’ll be returning stateside today.”

“But,” stammered General Sears, “sir, I don’t understand. Why would you do this?”

“Because I’m the goddamned President of the United States and I can do whatever the fuck I want!”

Chapter 37

Friday, March 17, 2017

St. Patrick’s Day

2:00 p.m.
EDT

Creech Air Force Base

Indian Springs, Nevada

Creech Air Force Base comprised over two thousand acres located about forty miles northwest of Las Vegas. Originally known as the Indian Springs Air Force Base, Creech AFB was fully operational during World War II, but was closed for a period of time until it was reopened in the fifties.

Creech AFB was currently used by the Air Force for command and control of its daily overseas contingency operations—drone warfare. The Top Gun culture that became synonymous with the fighter pilots at Miramar was now on full display at Creech AFB. With the rise of drone warfare, the Air Force began using their top aviators to remotely operate the unmanned aerial drones. While Nellis Air Force Base to their southeast enjoyed the notoriety, Creech pilots got the job done.

First Lieutenant Marco LaPaz leaned back in his squeaky office chair and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. The room he occupied with another former fighter pilot, Johnny Howard, smelled of armpits and nachos. The plain beige trailer was filled with a bank of computer screens and several keyboards. But the normal hum of air conditioners in the background stopped as the Air Force cut back on unnecessary electrical usage.

LaPaz disagreed with the Air Force on this point, as well as many others. He wanted to pilot F-35s. It was what he was trained for and he was good at it. But with the rapid increase of drone warfare under this administration, he was reassigned to the middle of bum-fuck-Egypt, which he and Howard affectionately called Creech AFB.

LaPaz was on the verge of dozing off when Howard returned from the latrine. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired of all this excitement, LaPaz,” boomed Howard with his baritone voice as he shut the door behind him.

“Why don’t you leave that door open?” asked LaPaz. “It smells like ass in here.”

Howard tossed a pack of gum on the desk in front of LaPaz, who quickly snatched a piece. Gum was a real luxury. He popped a piece out of its wrapper and immediately started chewing. He hoped it would provide some relief to the noxious smells in the room. Nope, still smells.

“No can do, amigo,” replied Howard. “Regulations, don’t you know.”

“Who cares? We’re not doing anything.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment as they monitored the screens on their workstations, which were devoid of activity. The military had stopped all overseas missions while the nation attended to its own personal business. Both men agreed the cockroaches would be coming out of hiding throughout the Middle East now.

“Do you think the major would mind if we piped in some mariachi music and entertained a couple of ladies from the Chicken Ranch?” asked LaPaz.

“No problemo,” replied Howard, who frequently misused Spanish lingo to poke fun at LaPaz. The two men laughed and LaPaz was reaching for another piece of gum when a message popped up on his computer screen.

“Shit,” muttered LaPaz.

“What’s up, brother?” asked Howard.

“I just received a message from the major,” replied LaPaz. “We’ve received a new OP. It’s TS/SCI.” This was the category for top secret, sensitive compartmented information. It was designed for people who had top-secret clearances but who might, in order to do their jobs, need to know certain information that was especially sensitive. The vast majority of the operational tasks assigned to LaPaz and Howard fell under the secret classification, a lower category.

“What’s the target?”

“This can’t be right,” replied LaPaz. “The major is on his way. I’m sure he’ll explain.”

“C’mon, man,” insisted Howard. “What’s the target?”

“Massachusetts.”

Chapter 38

Friday, March 17, 2017

St. Patrick’s Day

3:00 p.m.
EDT

Creech Air Force Base

Indian Springs, Nevada

The door flung open and Major Curtis Rawlings stepped inside and brought a welcome gust of fresh desert air with him. LaPaz and Howard jumped to their feet and stood at attention. The major removed his cap and sunglasses and closed the door behind him. He was accompanied by his aide, Captain Thomas.

“At ease, gentlemen,” instructed the major. “Please, everyone grab a seat. We need to fully understand this mission and the complicated scenario it presents.”

“Yes, sir,” said LaPaz as he glanced in the direction of Howard. The two lieutenants took their seats in front of their stations.

“Gentlemen, I’m going to be brutally frank with both of you,” started Major Rawlings. “We’ve received a tasking order that involves an American target located in central Massachusetts. This mission is classified TS/SCI, which means we aren’t privy to the intel on who the target is and why they’re located on American soil. But the order came straight from the top, and the target has been labeled high value.”

“May I speak freely, sir?” asked LaPaz.

“Please do,” replied the major.

“We’ve used our drone program on Americans abroad before, sir,” started LaPaz. “But Howard and I didn’t realize it until well after the mission was completed and it came out in the news. Sometimes the American citizens are collateral damage. But in the case of Yemen and Pakistan, the targets were Americans.”

“That’s true,” added Major Rawlings. “They were also Taliban and al-Qaeda operatives.”

LaPaz shifted uneasily in his chair. He didn’t want to enter into a debate with his commanding officer or appear insubordinate. Every service member and their families located within the confines of Creech AFB knew the unwritten rule—follow orders or be prepared to ship out to a new post without the comfort and security of Creech.

“Sir, without getting technical, we’re under CENTCOM’s AOR,” said Howard. “Isn’t this a matter for NORTHCOM and Nellis?”

“That puzzles me too, Lieutenant,” replied Major Rawlings. “However, these are unusual times. Areas of responsibility are blurred at the moment.”

LaPaz gathered the courage to press the issue. “Major, our target is the United States. Are we targeting Americans?”

Major Rawlings leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling. “Son, I’m not privy to that information. High value is all I’ve got for you. I do know this. The former attorney general, Eric Holder, issued an opinion that gave the green light to the President, which allowed military force to kill an American on U.S. soil in extraordinary circumstances. The President must believe this is extraordinary.”

LaPaz looked to Howard and shrugged. “Let’s get started, then.”

Howard and LaPaz swung their chairs around and eased into their stations.

Each trailer held a two-person crew—a pilot, LaPaz, and a sensor, Howard, who operated the ball. Both faced half a dozen computer screens, including map displays and close-up shots of the object under surveillance. As in any plane, the pilot used a flight stick with various buttons.

Of the two keyboards in front of the pilot, the one he typically used the most was the chat keyboard. On a normal mission, he’d be writing messages to others involved while talking into his mouthpiece to the JTAC, Joint Terminal Air Controller, usually a staff sergeant near the site under surveillance.

“Sir,” began LaPaz, “are we searching for a particular individual or group of individuals?”

“No,” replied Major Rawlings. “It’s a compound of some kind located in the middle of a peninsula in the Quabbin Reservoir of Massachusetts. Our mission is to destroy the entire compound.”

LaPaz looked at Howard. “Whadya think?”

“We’ve got a Pred available,” replied Howard. “It’s packin’ two Hellfires.”

The MQ-1 Predator drone, or the Pred, as its crews called it, was the most famous of several dozen unmanned aerial vehicles utilized by the U.S. military. For twenty years, the Predator UAVs chased al-Qaeda and Taliban leaders from one end of the Middle East to the other.

The Predator looked like a big glider. With its twenty-seven-foot length and fifty-foot wingspan, it was comparable in size to some of the largest civilian aircraft in the country. Without its mounted ordnance, the Predator was light enough to have its tail lifted off the ground with one hand.

At a cruising speed of eighty to one hundred miles an hour, the Predator became the military’s favorite weapon in counterinsurgency operations where the goal was to hunt and kill individual or small groups of enemy fighters.

“Major, who do we JTAC with on this mission?” asked LaPaz.

“Nobody,” replied Major Rawlings. “I’ll keep NORAD and the President abreast of our progress by phone.”

“Phone, sir?” asked LaPaz. “We didn’t have a brevity briefing today.”

The day at Creech AFB began with a pilots’ briefing. These briefings usually contained an overview of the basics applicable to their operations, followed by an intelligence backgrounder, including weather for their theater of operations, and concluded with the brevity, or multiservice code words for the day.

“OPSEC is not an issue today, Lieutenant,” said Major Rawlings as he stood and reached for the recently issued Blackberry out of his fatigues. “I don’t think the Taliban or al-Qaeda will be listening in.”

A quiet hush came over the room as pilot and sensor began their task in tandem. In front of them were grim, colorless computer screens in monochromatic, pulsing darkness, which created a three-dimensional world of flashing digits.

Predator pilots flew blind, using only the visual depiction of their location on a map and mathematics—numerical readouts indicating latitude, longitude, height, wind speeds, and ground elevations.

The camera in the rotating ball affixed to the belly of the drone concentrated primarily on the target. Under normal missions, the crew’s focus was restricted to the enemy on the ground. The JTAC had their back, so to speak. If the Predator was circling its prey, the pilot might preprogram a hexagonal, racetrack, or circular-type holding pattern as it awaited an opportunity to strike. On this mission, the GPS coordinates were entered and a cruising speed based upon weather conditions and ordnance was determined.

The Predator took flight, carrying its payload of two AGM-114 air-to-surface Hellfire II missiles. LaPaz and Howard settled into their routine, even exchanging playful banter as they navigated the deadly aircraft toward the east.

Another monitor came to life, showing a more familiar world of dramatic mountainsides and windswept terrain, which was common in the high desert of Nevada. Soon the Colorado River would be crossed and the snow-capped mountains of Utah would come into view.

For today’s mission, the Predator’s path was straight in, straight back—twenty-seven hundred miles, thirty hours’ flight-time to Prescott Peninsula. The estimated time of arrival was approximately six p.m. on Friday evening.

Guess who’s coming to dinner?

Chapter 39

Saturday, March 18, 2017

5:40 p.m.
EDT

1PP, Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

“Drew, are you absolutely sure?” Julia frantically asked into the receiver of the satphone. After Drew replied yes, Julia asked for a time frame. Twenty minutes! My God! “Stay on the line. Sarge!”

“Honey? Julia?” replied Sarge as he dashed up the stairs. He and Morgan had been having a drink in the war room. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

“No. It’s Drew,” she replied, out of breath from running through 1PP’s main floor. Mr. and Mrs. Lowell emerged from the kitchen, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mr. Lowell.

Julia handed Sarge the phone as she turned her attention to the Lowells. “Let Drew explain.”

While Sarge spoke to Drew, Julia instructed the Lowells to bring everybody inside. “Please hurry. Try not to panic everyone. Tell them it’s important. No exceptions.”

“That son of a bitch,” said Sarge. “Will he stop at nothing?” Drew began to explain as Donald and Brad joined him.

“What?” mouthed Donald. Sarge held his finger up to indicate he should wait. He glanced at his watch—5:43 p.m. “These things aren’t precise. Could he be wrong about the timing?”

Sarge hung up the phone without saying good-bye. He turned to Donald and Brad. “There’s a drone headed directly for us. The ETA is the next fifteen minutes.”

“We need to evacuate,” said Donald. Susan joined his side, firing the same questions as the others.

“Not enough time or vehicles,” said Brad.

“Should we run from the building?” asked Donald.

“It depends on the ordnance,” replied Brad. “It’s probably carrying a Hellfire variant as its payload. The casualty radius can be several hundred feet or more.”

The building was filling up now as all of the Boston Brahmin and their wives were huddled together in the center of the room.

John Morgan casually walked up to Sarge and whispered in his ear, “Henry, calm them. Take control.”

Sarge nodded as he began to speak. “Everyone, please listen. This is very important. We have to move quickly and orderly into the bunker. We only have a few minutes, so please get started.”

“What’s going on?”

“Are we in danger?”

“I’m scared, Mommy,” added Penny Quinn.

“I know, we all are,” said Susan. She was speaking to everyone now. “Please follow me downstairs. I will explain when we’re settled.”

“What about the food?” asked Mrs. Lowell.

Sarge shook his head and motioned for Julia to join him. “Honey, I need you to get settled downstairs while I make some sense of this,” said Sarge.

Julia turned to walk away when Morgan stopped her. He turned her around and led her by the arm to Sarge and Brad. Morgan sternly gave instructions.

“Colonel, you need to immediately escort Henry and Julia as far away as possible. This may be part of a larger military operation. Their target is not the people entering that bunker. It’s Henry.”

Julia gasped and held her hand over her mouth. She grabbed Sarge by the arms. “The President’s trying to kill you.”

“Indeed,” said Morgan. “Now go. All three of you drive as far away from here as possible and hide until it’s over.”

“What about you?” asked Sarge.

“I have confidence in Mr. Quinn’s preparations,” replied Morgan. “We’ll be fine. Go!”

Brad bolted toward the front door first as Winnie the Frenchie wandered in from outside. He scooped up the small French Bulldog and took her with him to fetch the Humvee. Sarge and Julia both hugged Morgan as he patted them on the back and sent them on their way.

They made their way to the porch as Brad arrived, skidding the Humvee to a stop in the gravel. Julia stopped and turned to run back inside. “I need the phone,” she muttered.

Sarge stood alone on the porch and waited. Julia took a moment to look around 1PP as she gently cradled her baby within her protruding belly. This had been their home for most of her pregnancy.

Sarge yelled her name, snapping Julia out of her trance. She ran to the sofa table and grabbed the phone. The baby gave her a kick, causing her to smile.

Then Julia heard the high-pitched hum of the Predator.

Chapter 40

Saturday, March 18, 2017

5:40 p.m.
EDT

The New Hack House

Boston, Massachusetts

Drew walked off to speak on the phone. Fakhri had initially picked up the telephone chatter between a major at a Nevada Air Force Base and an aide within the Department of Homeland Security yesterday afternoon. After she and Malvalaha had an argument over a comment Fakhri made about Drew, which touched off some jealousy in her boyfriend, she walked out of their bedroom. Asking to be left alone, Fakhri came into the computer center and began to randomly monitor communications between the aide and this Major Rawlings.

What caught her attention was a single exchange between the two involving the use of a drone on American soil. As a liberal, she abhorred the use of drone warfare and was very disappointed in the President she revered for his expansion of the program.

Her mind began to race as to what the conversation meant, so she went and apologized to Malvalaha for the comment and the disagreement. Then she enlisted his assistance to explore the meaning behind the communications.

During the day, Malvalaha and Fakhri learned that the aide was a direct subordinate to the Secretary of Homeland Security. It wasn’t until twenty minutes ago that they’d placed Major Rawlings at the Creech AFB in Nevada.

The red flags were immediately raised by Fakhri. Creech AFB was the location of a major protest sponsored by CODEPINK in late March last year. Hundreds of activists had swarmed the front gate at Creech AFB, holding daily vigils and attempting to block traffic into the facility.

Once the originating location was determined, Malvalaha easily accessed the LSUASC/NASA drone flight monitoring program designed by Texas A&M University. Because Texas never lost power, the computer networks were still accessible. By agreement with the military, flight paths were not tracked after the drone left U.S. airspace. In the case of the drone that left Creech AFB yesterday, it was easily identified. There were no other drones flying across America at this time.

The Zero Day Gamers watched the flight of the Predator drone, which was identified by the software. Its flight path and speed were quickly calculated. Interpolating the data onto a map left no doubt. The Predator was headed straight for the Boston area.

Lau informed Drew of the threat and he immediately contacted his friends—Lau’s captors. The Gamers huddled together to discuss the options. They exchanged knowing looks. This could be their opportunity to escape.

“What do you want to do, Professor?” asked Fakhri.

“Leo, you know what I’m thinking, right?” asked Lau.

Malvalaha nodded. “Professor, they are responsible for your burns, pain, and suffering. They deserve it.”

“No, Leo, my greed is responsible for my pain,” whispered Lau. “We were paid too handsomely for the hacktivist act they requested. I could’ve declined the work, but I got greedy. And I got burned.”

“But, Professor,” started Malvalaha, “they may kill us when this is over. We know too much. There are no guarantees, only empty promises.”

Lau pointed to Drew. “Do you see that man over there? I trust him. He’s promised me safety, and I believe him.”

“Me too,” interjected Fakhri.

“Leo, let’s do our jobs,” implored Lau. “Two wrongs don’t make a right. Regardless of how I may feel about our captors, there are innocent women and children out there who will be murdered by our President.”

“We could fail and simply say oops, sorry,” said Malvalaha.

“They’re Americans, Leo,” added Fakhri. “Please?”

The three of them sat in silence together as Malvalaha thought through the discussion. Drew approached them and kneeled down with his arm around Lau’s chair.

“Can you help us, Professor?”

Lau looked to Malvalaha, who smiled and nodded.

“Do you think a bonus might be in order?” asked Lau jokingly.

“No doubt!” replied Drew.

Lau turned his cap around backward and patted Malvalaha on the back. The Zero Day Gamers got to work.

In 2011, a malware virus attacked the computer networks controlling the Predator and Reaper drones. While the Air Force dismissed the intrusion as a nuisance, media reports began to surface stating several high-ranking officers at Nellis AFB and Creech AFB were very concerned about the program.

The malware was initially detected as a keylogger program, one that covertly captured the keystrokes of the person using the keyboard on the infected system. However, further reports indicated the intrusion was more severe, including a credential stealer designed to steal log-in and password information of the users.

This was far more serious than just a nuisance. The Air Force admitted that it was never able to completely scrub their servers of the malware. One anonymous, senior Air Force officer was quoted as saying we keep wiping it off and it keeps coming back. He added we think it’s benign, but we just don’t know.

It wasn’t benign. The network vulnerability was never identified. Unknown to the government, hackers had been roaming around in the classified networks of Nellis and Creech for years.

“It’s been a while, but I’m sure nothing has changed,” said Malvalaha. It was 5:46 p.m. He spoke out loud as he rapidly tapped on the keyboard. “Ten years ago, the SillyFDC worm was inserted into the DOD networks. It was replicated in various forms since. Most recently, a virus called Agent.btz made its way onto the network.”

Malvalaha continued to frantically seek access. Drew appeared impatient, so Lau tried to help calm him down.

“Drew, this will be our doorkeeper to allow us access,” started Lau. “Agent.btz gives Leo the ability to scan computers for data, open backdoors, and send instructions through those backdoors into the command and control servers at Creech.”

“Uhm, how long will it take?” asked Drew.

Malvalaha continued his narration. “The Predator and Reaper crews use removable hard drives to load map updates and transport mission videos from one computer to another. I’m hoping one of the pilots is carrying the virus on his hard drive.”

It was 5:55 p.m.

“Leo,” said Lau nervously.

“Hold on.”

A cursor blinked on his screen. It was black. Nothing. Just a blinking cursor.

Lau removed his cap and rubbed the few peach-fuzz hairs on his head. Fakhri sank back in her chair.

“C’mon. C’mon, dammit!” yelled Malvalaha at the monitor.

Then it happened. The screen filled with the green hilltops and tiny blue lakes that dotted the landscape of western Massachusetts.

“Shit!” exclaimed Malvalaha.

“Good work,” said Drew.

“It’s mine now,” said Malvalaha. “What do you want me to do with it? I can turn it around and send it home.”

“Crash it,” demanded Fakhri. “Sail it into the Atlantic. It’ll be one less fighting machine available to kill the innocents among my people.”

Malvalaha took it into a deep nosedive and turned the Predator hard to the right. It flew low enough to the ground that residents from Springfield to Martha’s Vineyard could count the yellow stripes on the Hellfire II missiles strapped to the bottom of the drone.

The first assassination attempt of Henry Winthrop Sargent IV had failed.

PART FIVE

April–May 2017

Chapter 41

Saturday, April 1, 2017

2:00 p.m.

1PP, Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

The caravan of Humvees, M35 troop carriers, and a variety of civilian vehicles prepared to leave. After eight months of bugging out to Prescott Peninsula on the Quabbin Reservoir, the Boston Brahmin, the Loyal Nine, and their families were returning home to Boston. Donald and Sarge stood atop 1PP on the widow’s walk as Gunny Falcone and CWO Shore coordinated the convoy.

After order was restored in the city, Sarge requested a combination of Marines and the Mechanics to secure and restore, if necessary, the homes of his friends. Back in early September, Morgan had put into place private contractors to live in the palatial homes of the Boston Brahmin.

J.J.’s home in Jamaica Plain had been destroyed. Brad had no intention of returning to Fort Devens until things were resolved politically. The two bachelors chose to move into 100 Beacon. J.J. was taking a formal position at Mass General to work alongside Dr. Judd Daugherty. Brad would continue to advise Sarge as the potential military conflicts in the western states brewed.

Abbie and Drew went on another ambassador mission to the Midwest. Sarge was trying to hold a fragile coalition of states together until the planned Constitutional Convention later this month. The only holdouts were California, Oregon, Washington, and Hawaii. Parts of Arizona, Nevada, and New Mexico were resisting their state governments, but Sarge had confidence the conservative governors in those states would gain control of any malcontents.

“I don’t know, boss,” started Donald. “It kinda makes me sad to leave. Me and the girls have grown accustomed to the twelve-by-sixteen bungalow.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sarge laughed. “And don’t call me that.”

“What? Boss?”

“Right.”

“Would you rather me call you Mr. President?” asked Donald.

Sarge playfully grabbed Donald and muscled him toward the rail of the widow’s walk. “That’s it! You’re goin’ overboard. If there was a plank, I’d make you walk it!”

“Okay, okay,” said Donald as he looked to the ground thirty feet below. If Susan caught a glimpse of their horseplay, he and Sarge would get a whoopin’. “You have to admit, you’ve thought about it.”

“Donald, this whole thing has sorta evolved,” started Sarge, grabbing the rail with both hands as he surveyed the progress of the vehicles getting loaded up with suitcases and boxes. “I’ve never been shy about my opinions when it came to the direction our country was taking. I’ve been a critic of the President long before he proved to be the tyrant I always knew he was. For God’s sake, he tried to have us all killed because of my criticism.”

Donald patted his friend on the back. Sarge had expressed remorse and feelings of guilt following the attempted drone attack. He wanted to move everyone out of Prescott Peninsula, but Boston just wasn’t safe enough at the time. He offered to move to 100 Beacon to take the target off 1PP. But the group agreed, Sarge was their leader and they’d all stick together.

“Your criticism of this President and concern for our country was warranted,” said Donald. “It took a lot of courage to step up last fall and try to provide this nation hope. Your weekly addresses and unselfish actions for others created a nationwide Choose Freedom movement. Hollywood couldn’t have scripted it any better, my friend.”

Gunny Falcone walked from the last Humvee toward the front of the seventeen-vehicle train. With one final discerning look at each truck, he’d slap the hood and provide the driver a thumbs-up. Within minutes, the large diesel engines of the military trucks roared to life in a deep rumble as they prepared to pull out. Sarge and Donald stayed behind with a security detail to discuss the future of 1PP. Julia and Morgan were downstairs, wrapping up a few details.

“I, uhm, we all felt the nation needed a boost,” continued Sarge. “The President used this as an opportunity to extend his term and destroy his political enemies. In the process, he forgot about providing Americans what they needed the most—hope.”

Donald waved to Susan and the girls, who were hanging out of the windows of their Escalade. He was anxious to get home to his jalopy, the affectionate name he called the old Jeep Renegade that acted as his company car.

“So are you gonna run or not?” asked Donald.

Sarge laughed. “You don’t think I have enough on my plate? A wedding and a baby on the way. Not to mention that I’m now in charge of what is the oldest and most powerful political cartel in the history of mankind. Sure, let me put on my khakis and plaid shirt so I can run around Iowa kissing babies.”

“Okay, but hear me out,” started Donald. “Setting all of those things aside—”

Sarge rushed him again and walked toward the rail. “I warned you, Quinn. There are no witnesses now, except for Julia, who’ll see your body flying past the window!”

“No, no. Okay,” said Donald as Sarge let him go. “I swear, if you’ll just consider this one thing, I promise I’ll drop it.”

“Fine,” said Sarge.

“I’ve been reading about this psychological theory—” began Donald before Sarge interrupted him.

“Psychobabble.”

“Really, it makes sense. It’s called Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Humans have certain mental and physical requirements for survival. But to achieve their level of full potential, all of these needs must be met.”

“It’s been a little hard for people to achieve anything lately,” said Sarge. “When you’re digging through dumpsters for food or running for your life, full potential seems like pie in the sky.”

“Exactly,” said Donald. “The most basic needs are physiological—air, water, food, and shelter. You’ve helped many Americans by bringing these things to the U.S. from abroad. Second, people need safety and security to keep their wits about them. Long before the collapse event, this country was in decline socially and economically. You’ve pointed that out to anyone who’d listen.”

“The cyber attack simply accelerated the inevitable, Donald,” interjected Sarge. “The country was deep set in doom and gloom.”

“A malaise.”

“Yes,” continued Sarge. “You could see the anger in social media. The streets of major cities were unsafe due to the violent acts of a few. All the cyber attack did was push them over the edge.”

“Sarge, you’ve given people hope again because their personal safety has been restored. Financial security is beyond your control at the moment, but I believe people will trust you to make it right. You’ve proven yourself to them.”

“There’s only so much I can do now,” said Sarge. “Before the collapse, Mr. Morgan had established a vast network of political and financial allies. The government is in shambles and our international connections have pulled back somewhat as the power struggle continues.”

“So end the struggle,” said Donald.

“Great. You want me to take a shot at the President?” asked Sarge.

“No, although he deserves it after the drone stunt,” replied Donald. “Beat him fair and square using your God-given gifts. You know history and politics. You have a tremendous ability to sway public opinion through your speeches.”

“And I’m handsome.” Sarge laughed.

“Then, there’s that too.”

Sarge walked to the rail and put his hands in his pockets. Donald didn’t want to push because the decision to take on such a monumental task should be made by Sarge and Julia. Donald believed the nation needed a nonpolitician to right the ship. Sarge and the Choose Freedom movement were becoming legendary.

“How many states are on board for the Constitutional Convention?” asked Sarge.

“We have the thirty-one Republican governorships, plus the four New England Democrat controlled houses. Borden promises to deliver Pennsylvania, Delaware, and West Virginia.”

“That’s thirty-eight,” said Sarge. “That’s all we need.”

“All we need,” echoed Donald.

Chapter 42

Sunday, April 9, 2017

5:30 p.m.

Morgan Residence

39 Sears Road

Brookline, Massachusetts

Julia carefully made her way downstairs to join Sarge in the study. The winding staircase was made of solid, polished marble, so she always watched her footing. Julia was in her eighth month, and she constantly thought about the safety of their baby.

She was getting settled into the Morgan estate and its Georgian Revival opulence. The fifteen-thousand-square-foot, nine-bedroom home was large enough for, well, the Loyal Nine. Her favorite part of the home was the swimming pool. A simple rectangular design surrounded by granite decking, the small oasis was completely surrounded by evergreens and very private.

The pool was heated and provided slightly warm water for Julia to enjoy some water therapy. The water helped relax and soothe her aching muscles. Plus it took away the awkwardness she felt from walking around with a big belly. The buoyancy of the pool water reduced the clumsiness and fatigue she’d been experiencing. Above all, being alone with her thoughts was invaluable. She lived in a house full of staff, security personnel, and now, political operatives. She missed 100 Beacon, but she understood why this was necessary.

She found Sarge alone, staring out at the four-acre front lawn. A team of landscapers was doting over every blade of grass and attending to every budding flower. The men and women alike were thrilled to be working and appreciated their payments in silver.

Before she announced herself, she admired Sarge, uncharacteristically dressed in a suit, who instantly reminded her of photos she’d seen of John Kennedy. She wondered whether Jackie Kennedy loved her husband as much as Julia loved Sarge. Sarge was surrounded by the exquisite carved details and the walnut trim of the study. The gold-leafed ceilings screamed wealth. The portrait of John Adams was a reminder of the political legacy their child would inherit and be expected to carry forward.

She quietly entered the study and joined Sarge by the window. Julia hugged him around the waist and put her head on his shoulder. They both watched the activity outside for a moment in silence.

“The front yard looks like a pretty good spot,” Sarge started as he pressed his hand against the window. “Everyone does backyards. Let’s be different. Yeah. The front yard.”

“Sarge, what are you talkin’ about, love?” asked Julia.

“Our wedding. We should get married right here in the front yard.”

Julia stood up and leaned into the window, trying to visualize the event. She nodded her head in agreement. “I like it. Since you picked the location, may I pick the date?”

“Sure.”

“May first.”

Sarge thought for a moment. Julia knew he was running his schedule through his head. This didn’t offend her in the least. She’d come to respect that their lives would revolve around other, sometimes more important events. She and Sarge were destined to become American royalty, and with that title came a lot of responsibility and a lack of privacy.

“Book it!” He laughed and turned to kiss her. They embraced for a long time, enjoying the rare moment alone. The sound of a blower being used to remove grass clippings from the patio brought them out of their hug.

“I love you,” said Julia as she kissed Sarge again. She took his glass and went to the bar to refill his drink. As she did, Morgan entered the study.

“Hello, Julia,” said Morgan. “Would you mind pouring me one? Same as Henry, please.”

“My pleasure,” replied Julia. She fixed another drink for the men and pulled out a boxed Vita Coco water for herself. The drink, made in Brazil, was procured by Donald at Susan’s insistence. She continued to keep a careful eye on Julia as her pregnancy neared the projected due date of Memorial Day, May twenty-ninth.

Julia delivered the men their drinks as she took a seat on the bar stool. The deep, plush leather chairs were incredibly comfortable, but getting out of them was quite a task for Julia. Holding up the bar suited her just fine.

“What’s on your mind, Henry?”

“On this day in 1865, the last battle of the Civil War was fought near the small town of Appomattox in Virginia. Lee had been forced out of the Confederate capital in Richmond and retreated to the west in an attempt to join his army in North Carolina.

“Grant outmaneuvered Lee and placed himself squarely in the intended path to the reunification of the Confederate Army. Because Grant executed the move so quickly, Lee assumed the Union forces consisted primarily of cavalry. He launched an attack to break through the middle of the Union skirmish line, but when he did, Lee discovered that the cavalry was backed up by two corps of Union infantry.

“Lee realized the war was lost and that he had no choice but to surrender. When the two adversaries met late that afternoon to discuss the terms of surrender, Lee arrived in an immaculate dress uniform. Grant, on the other hand, was covered with mud in his government-issued sackcloth coat and pants. An unknowledgeable bystander could’ve assumed Lee to be the victor on that day.”

Sarge took a drink and Morgan did as well. This was the first time Julia had joined the men during their afternoon cocktail hour. She was fascinated by their body language and interaction. Early on, Sarge and Morgan might have enjoyed a teacher-student or even a father-son relationship. Now they were equals, contemporaries.

“I know the story well,” added Morgan. “Lee underestimated his opponent and lost. He was a proud man and, as such, was afforded the respect of his conqueror.”

“I believe those days of political grandeur are over,” said Sarge. “Today, the victor annihilates his opponent, even when the battle is over.”

“Perhaps it is time for this nation to change its ways in this respect as well.”

Sarge stood and walked over to the Adams portrait, seeking inspiration. He leaned against the fireplace mantel and rested his arm while he spoke.

“I’m afraid we may be headed for a civil war,” said Sarge. “The President has polarized the country for years. Now, in the aftermath of the collapse, he has carved out his own fiefdom in the form of Hawaii, California, Oregon, and Washington, with parts of Arizona and Nevada as well.”

“How do you plan on avoiding such a conflict?” asked Morgan.

“For starters, with Julia’s help,” started Sarge as he nodded and smiled to his betrothed, “and the assistance of our new IT department headed by the Zero Day Gamers, I’ll be making a major address to those areas on Friday. I hope to appeal to their sense of patriotism to the great nation in which we live. I’m going to urge them to attend the Constitutional Convention in St. Louis.”

“What if they don’t?” asked Julia as she joined the conversation for the first time.

“We have enough states to pursue the agenda I’ve developed,” replied Sarge. “If the support for my plan by the overwhelming number of states in the country is not enough to convince them, then I will formulate a plan B.”

“Henry, exhaust your political options. You mustn’t undertake any course of action that would create a constitutional crisis. Our nation and the republic is bigger than our political differences.”

Sarge walked to the window and once again stared at nothing in particular. Julia could see he was troubled and frustrated.

“This President needs to learn from General Lee, a true gentleman,” said Sarge. “He needs to recognize and admit defeat, then leave office with dignity. If he doesn’t, I will find the means necessary to force him out.”

“You are choosing to clash with the President on the political battlefield,” started Morgan. He sat up on the edge of the leather armchair. “I caution you not to overlook his desperation. Desperate men do desperate things. His attempted assassination of you is indicative of his fear. Do not forget that he controls the most powerful military force in the history of mankind.”

“Yes, sir,” interrupted Sarge. “Thus far, the military has followed its oath to the Constitution for the most part and stood down when it came to raising arms against Americans on their own soil. They didn’t take up arms against us when we drove the Citizen Corps out of Boston, New York, Philly, and other major cities. They allowed the Texans to drive the UN back across the Rio Grande without entering the fray. I want to believe they will stand down as I attempt to reunite the nation.”

Morgan stood and went to Sarge’s side. He placed his hand on Sarge’s shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. Morgan finished the conversation with his last piece of advice.

“Not all of them may stand down as you suggest. If a civil war is the solution, just remember, there is no honorable way to kill and no subtle way to destroy. Nothing good comes out of war, except its ending.”

Chapter 43

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

11:00 a.m.

Quinn Residence

Brae Burn Country Club

West Newton, Massachusetts

The Quinn home was bustling with activity. Stability was being established throughout Boston and especially in suburban communities. Donald was assigned a full-time security detail around their home, although there hadn’t been any signs of petty theft or looting in over a month. Civilization had begun to rise again through mutual respect and optimism.

Susan insisted on throwing Julia a combined baby and wedding shower. As an empathetic person, Susan debated whether it was appropriate to have such an affair considering so many people were still doing without. Donald convinced her that the nation needed to rally around ideals and visions of the future, not the hardships of the past. This applied to everyone, including their circle of friends.

Donald’s role today was that of honey-do husband. If the trash needed emptying, he was on it. Out of wine? Let me pour you another glass. Pin the tail on the donkey? Wait, what? I’m the donkey. Forget it.

Rebecca and Penny were at the top of their game as they dutifully performed their tasks. They’d dressed in pink and white frilly dresses with long gloves that reached their elbows. The outfits were their Easter Sunday best, although they fit snugly after a year’s worth of growth.

Their initial duties involved greeting the guests at the door. Donald hadn’t tired of the rehearsed routine. As the doorbell rang, Penny would open the door and Rebecca would join her side.

“Welcome,” they would say, followed by I’m Penny—I’m Rebecca. In unison they’d proudly announce, “We are the hostesses with the mostesses.” Donald realized that every parent considered their children to be the most adorable angels on the planet. But on this day, he verily believe Penny and Rebecca ranked in the top two.

Donald loved his daughters and he was especially proud of Susan for maintaining some semblance of childhood while they lived at Prescott Peninsula. The girls had been through a lot but not as much as others around the country. As time passed, Donald would teach them the lessons to be learned from the collapse.

The party was in full swing after about an hour as the wine kicked in and the older ladies became philosophical. This was the free advice portion of the program, folks. Donald hid out in the kitchen but eavesdropped like a pro.

“Now, Julia,” started Mrs. Lowell. Donald easily recognized her raspy voice. “Sarge is one of the most powerful men in the world—destined for greatness. He is not driven by money or power.”

“Constance is right,” added Mary Cabot. “He has a goodness and love of country that few of his predecessors had. Neither John nor Lawrence have the temperament to guide us through these troubled times.”

“Thank you, ladies,” said Julia. “I will support him—”

The advice continued as Aunt Stella interrupted her. “Just you remember, dearie, that the real power of a man is determined by the support and love of the woman standing next to him.”

“Well said, Stella,” said Mrs. Cabot. “In fact, women could never be as successful as men because they don’t have wives to advise them.”

The room burst out in laughter. The man-haters club was now in session. Donald slid beneath the kitchen counter and looked for an escape route.

“A real man chooses to honor, love, respect, adore and be faithful to one woman.” Mrs. Winthrop? Donald couldn’t tell because the advice came in a flurry now.

“You let us know if he has one inkling to act like that JFK.” Mrs. Lowell laughed.

“Yeah, the first time some Marilyn Monroe floozy comes sniffin’ around, you call us.”

Penny added to the conversation. “Like the Ghostbusters?”

“Exactly!”

“Who you gonna call?”

“Floozy-busters!”

Oh gawd. Donald slipped out the front door to check on security.

Chapter 44

Friday, April 14, 2017

7:50 p.m.

73 Tremont

Boston, Massachusetts

Sarge sat alone in the office John Morgan had occupied at 73 Tremont for three decades. The desk and chair he now occupied was his if he wanted it. Morgan had made it clear that his days as head of the wealthy and politically powerful Boston Brahmin were over and Sarge was expected to take over the helm. However, Sarge wrestled with whether he could pursue a political career for the highest office in the land at the same time.

He had reached a turning point where he could stay the course, work in the shadows like his mentor had done for nearly forty years, or be thrust into the political spotlight. Thus far, only his closest friends, the Loyal Nine, and Morgan’s confidants knew that Sarge was exploring the possibilities.

If he was successful in his political campaign, he’d become the first sitting President of Boston Brahmin lineage since the founders. The executive council of the Brahmin typically avoided the presidency, choosing instead to manipulate the occupant of the White House instead.

By becoming President, political power would be consolidated in a way that would make most Americans shudder. It certainly would create an opportunity to spread the influence of his benefactors throughout the world in a fashion envisioned by the Clinton Foundation for themselves. HRC, however, was in ill health, a fact that would have surfaced had the collapse not occurred. Her brain condition had deteriorated rapidly in the latter months of 2016, and she might not have been able to take the oath of office had she won the election in November.

Sarge often wondered if Morgan was aware of the seriousness of Clinton’s condition, hence the reason he orchestrated Abbie’s placement on the Democrat ticket as Vice President. It was an odd coupling by all viewpoints, but one that would have been fortuitous for the Boston Brahmin.

Sarge thought about Abbie as his Vice President choice, which was part of his reasoning for sending her to meet with the governors. America needed an outsider to run this country now, but Sarge needed an insider with the political gravitas to build a consensus. Abbie was perfect for the job.

This would be Sarge’s last address to the nation via the Digital Carrier Pigeon network. As power was being restored nationwide, the media was ready to get back to work. On Monday, just two days before the Constitutional Convention in St. Louis, power would be restored to New York City. This was by design. After a couple of days of the media covering the death and destruction, they would be hungry for the cause of the cyber attack and the potential solutions.

The St. Louis Convention, as it was being called, would be a major political event capturing the attention of the media worldwide. Sarge would have the world stage as he opened the first such gathering since 1787. This was the beginning of his plan to set the nation on a new course toward renewed freedom. Or the rhetoric could embolden a wounded President and send them toward a civil war.

This was his opportunity to appeal to the holdout states along the West Coast. The President had cultivated favor with them from the beginning. The vast majority of relief supplies and temporary power stations were directed to areas stretching from the Canadian border to Mexico. Even typically Republican strongholds like Orange County and San Diego sang the praises of the President and his recovery effort. Sarge now had the assurances of the governors of Nevada and Arizona that they’d be on board with the determinations of the St. Louis Convention.

Sarge’s constant companion, Corporal Morrell, gently knocked on the door and entered. “Sir, they’re ready to link you into the system. Press the flashing light on your phone, and you’ll be live.”

“Thank you, David,” said Sarge.

Sarge began speaking from the heart about his love for country. He reminded his fellow Americans about the sacrifices the Founding Fathers had made for the freedoms they enjoyed. Then he reminded America about what was at stake.

“Just nine months ago, during Labor Day weekend, our children were riding their bikes or swimming in the pool. They were playing with friends and doing all of the things happy children do as the summer comes to a close. None of them imagined that the next day, their world would end—failing to resemble anything their young minds could contemplate.

“Most adults never envisioned such a catastrophic event, yet it happened and our government had known it was a possibility for years. It’s natural to point fingers of blame and seek scapegoats for the ills that befall us. But that time is not now.

“We face a bigger crisis in this nation than the loss of power. Our country is being torn apart ideologically. Just like the children riding their bikes on Labor Day weekend never contemplated the collapse, my fear is that the citizens of this nation do not contemplate the collapse of our Constitution and the republic for which it stands.

“I come before you tonight to ask, what if this is our last time to enjoy the freedoms afforded by the Constitution? What if this is our last moment to do something to save America from the downward spiral representative of the last decade?

“I’m calling on all Americans to set aside their differences and come together for the good of the country. I want you to be able to look your children in the eye and say that we lived up to our values—that we did all we could to keep our nation together.

“America is more than just a large stretch of dirt from coast to coast and border to border. America is a concept, a simple yet powerful idea that freedom is everything. Freedom is all that matters. America is exceptional because it was built on a simple concept—I want to be free.

“I want you to join me in a better vision for our future and the future of our children. My vision is centered on the concept of freedom. I ask those of you from Seattle to San Diego and from Salem to Sacramento, join us in St. Louis as we move diligently to setting this country on the course of freedom. Make the commitment to choose freedom!

“Thank you, and may God bless the United States of America.”

Chapter 45

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Noon

America’s Center

St. Louis, Missouri

The five-hundred-thousand-square-foot America’s Center Convention Complex boasted a thirty-thousand-square-foot ballroom, a sixty-seven-thousand-seat dome, an enormous theater and at least eight conference rooms. It had hosted events ranging from a Beyoncé concert to a Catholic Mass presided over by Pope John Paul II—the largest indoor affair ever held in the United States. Today it was going to host a far more important assembly of representatives from forty-five states.

It would be the second such gathering of its kind, the first having taken place in May of 1787. But the Constitutional Convention that began today carried significant importance, and the historical precedent of the First Constitutional Convention held in Philadelphia was not lost on many of its attendees.

On May 25, 1787, delegates representing every state except Rhode Island had convened at Philadelphia’s Pennsylvania State House for the Constitutional Convention. The building, which was now known as Independence Hall, had earlier seen the drafting of the Declaration of Independence and the signing of the Articles of Confederation.

The assembly immediately discarded the idea of amending the Articles of Confederation and set about drawing up a new system of government. Fifty-five state delegates, including George Washington, James Madison, and Benjamin Franklin, were charged with the responsibility of devising the new Constitution.

During three months of debate, the delegates devised a brilliant federal structure characterized by an intricate system of checks and balances. On September 17, 1787, the Constitution of the United States of America was signed by thirty-eight of the forty-one delegates present and was ultimately ratified by the thirteen states.

The U.S. Constitution was the oldest written national constitution in operation in the world, and it was about to be strictly enforced. Sarge and his entourage, which included Donald, Abbie, and Brad, had several things on his agenda.

He would call on the President to resign from office or prepare to be impeached. Second, he would insist that the presidential election be scheduled immediately. Third, he was going to suggest that the nation’s capital be moved to Boston, where the War for Independence began, and that a special session of Congress be convened there.

There was historic precedent for this. President Washington first took office in New York City, but when he was reelected in 1792, the capital had already moved to Philadelphia, where it would remain for a decade. Thomas Jefferson was the first president to be inaugurated in the new and current capital of Washington, D.C., in March 1801.

The District of Columbia was the product of political compromise. As part of the struggle over Alexander Hamilton’s financial policy, Congress supported the Bank of the United States, which would be headquartered in Philadelphia. In exchange, the southernmost states in the fledgling nation demanded a capital more centrally located and in a rural area. The District of Columbia, to be under congressional control, would be built on the Potomac River.

The irony of this compromise was readily apparent. While Hamilton’s policies encouraged the consolidation of economic power in the hands of bankers, financiers, and merchants who predominated in the urban northeast, the nation’s capital was established in a more southerly and agricultural region apart from the economic elites who were located in New York and Philadelphia.

Our nation was never intended to be governed from one central location where power could easily corrupt our elected officials. It was Thomas Jefferson who warned that a government big enough to give you everything you want is strong enough to take everything you have. Sarge intended to remind his fellow Americans of this fact.

Chapter 46

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Noon

America’s Center

St. Louis, Missouri

St. Louis was known as the Gateway to the West, as evidenced by the magnificent six-hundred-foot-tall arch on the west bank of the Mississippi River. Sarge saw the Constitutional Convention as a portal through which he could drive the train of freedom to every corner of the country.

The gathering was slated to last three days, with various amendments to the Constitution proposed, argued, and voted upon. There were also points of order to be introduced that did not carry the weight of law, but were intended to symbolically reach a consensus for getting the nation back on its feet.

The primary goal of a major political party convention every four years was to nominate and confirm a candidate for President and Vice President. Sarge had laughed to Donald that the goal of this convention was to keep the attendees from killing each other. It would be a historic gathering of Americans from all across the political spectrum.

Donald and Abbie, in conjunction with respected governors from across the country, were the primary organizers of this event. The task of bringing together people from around the nation when most parts of the country were without power was daunting, but the full attendance was indicative of what the nation could do when people pulled together for a common goal without the partisan bickering typical of society prior to the collapse.

Ordinarily, the choice speaking slots were designed to be in front of the most potential media viewers—primetime on the final night of the convention. However, television coverage of the St. Louis Convention was limited to film snippets used for broadcast to an elite few. Americans would learn about this historic event through AM radios around the country, the vast majority of whom would be tuned in at the beginning.

It was for that reason, and the fact that Sarge was a political unknown across much of the country, that he chose to give the opening remarks as the keynote speaker. He intended to introduce himself and set the tone for the convention. If his speech was successful, his name would become known to everyone in attendance, and most Americans, as being synonymous with the Choose Freedom movement.

As the keynote speaker, Sarge hoped to convince the politicians to look at conducting the business of the nation in a different way. This was his opportunity to move them away from the top-heavy, centralized federal government towards a state-centered republic. If he was successful, he’d convince them to discuss the prospects of dismantling the broken system and abandoning the massive bureaucracy that had become the root of the nation’s problems.

Sarge took the stage and approached a lone microphone in the center. There were no ornate Greek columns, digital flashing billboards, or Bruce Springsteen lyrics designed to convince the attendees that he was born in the USA.

There was a podium, a pitcher of water, and the United States flag.

Simple and without distractions. No smoke and mirrors.

Chapter 47

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Noon

America’s Center

St. Louis, Missouri

Sarge took a deep breath and addressed the St. Louis Constitutional Convention and a worldwide media audience.

“My fellow Americans, thank you for attending this important gathering as we set the course of recovery and renewal for our great nation.”

Sarge paused to take in the magnificence of the arena filled with thousands of community leaders. He wondered if they could come together to save America.

“This is a historic day in many respects. In the predawn light on this date in 1775, the beating drums and ringing bells throughout the Massachusetts countryside summoned seventy American patriots to the town green at Lexington. As these brave men lined up in battle formation, the distant sound of marching feet and shouted orders alerted them to the approach of the much larger force of seasoned British soldiers. Soon the British column emerged through the morning fog. Both sides eyed each other warily, not knowing what to expect.

“Suddenly, a bullet buzzed through the morning air. It was the shot heard round the world, and the confrontation that would launch our nation began. A dozen difficult years later, fifty-five Americans attended a gathering just like this one in Philadelphia. They faced a task as challenging as the one we face today. The results of that first Constitutional Convention speaks for itself.

“The United States Constitution is, quite simply, the finest document ever devised by man. It’s brilliant in its structure and intent. The House of Representatives, elected directly by the people, has its allocation of representatives based on population. Our United States Senate was designed to provide equal representation for each state. This incredible legislative body, our Congress, however, was circumscribed in its ability to infringe upon the freedoms of the states and the American people by design.

“The presidency is a masterwork of compromise—a powerful executive maintaining a duty to defend our nation, with the partial ability to check the legislature, yet subject to re-election every four years by the people. Today, the American President has been uniformly accepted as the leader of the free world.

“The third branch of government established by the Constitution, the judiciary, was largely restricted to deciding outcomes based upon the express provisions of the Constitution. Its important function is the ability to check the other two branches.

“The Constitution is as clear a document as any yet written. Yes, it contains lofty language—promoting the general welfare, for example—but it is largely a document of specifics. The Constitution is not poetry, open to all forms of interpretation. It is not a literary piece designed to reflect individual whims. The Constitution is, first and foremost, a governmental document, written in plain English—legal and understandable. It does not mutate over time. It does not reflect what we wish it to be. It is what it is. It requires no embellishment.

“No, the Constitution is not a perfect document. Amendments to the Constitution have been necessary and have strengthened the document itself. But again, the founders realized that changes would be necessary for this great nation of liberty and freedom to adapt to changing times.

“Longevity means we have to evolve, that we have to change and be open to change. The evolution of the Constitution was embodied in the amendment process—a process that has abolished slavery, given women the right to vote, and protected freedom of speech, religion and the press, among other necessary and virtuous developments.

“Dr. Benjamin Franklin once pointed out that the Constitution is but a document that relies on the people to give it truth and life. If the Constitution is not revered and followed, then our nation can, as Dr. Franklin pointed out, only end in despotism, as other forms have done before it, when the people shall become so corrupted as to need despotic Government, being incapable of any other.

“We are at a crossroads in the history of our great nation. The challenges we face are not a result of the devastating cyber attack of last year. The trials and tribulations we face have been brought on over many years. As the checks and balances restricting federal usurpation of power fell away, the American people became more and more dependent on an all-powerful centralized government.

“In 1787, as our predecessors adopted the United States Constitution, Americans were given the greatest mechanism for the protection of freedom in human history. The choice to maintain that freedom remains, as it always has, in our hands.

“My fellow Americans, all empires collapse eventually, and America is not immune from this fate. However, the actions we take in the next three days can preserve her ideals, protect her citizens, and ensure the goals of our Founding Fathers.

“Freedom will lift the American people out of this malaise. Freedom will lift our family and friends out of the cycle of dependency. It’s the love of freedom that will allow millions of Americans to pursue their dreams. We must make the most of this opportunity to fight for freedom and to protect our God-given rights.

“Join me as I say when given the choice between tyranny or freedom, I choose freedom!”

Chapter 48

Sunday, April 23, 2017

9:00 a.m.

Massillon, Ohio

Katie and Smalley hid in the trees across the street from Rory Elkins’s home. It was their fourth day of surveillance. With each passing day, her contempt and hatred grew for the coward who’d stabbed Steven in the back. She’d made a solemn promise to Sarge to bring Elkins back alive—a difficult pledge to make, and maintain.

The overgrown weeds and brush provided them perfect cover as they observed the activity around the two-story, white-sided home. Several vehicles were parked in front of the house, which obscured their view somewhat. A blue four-door sedan and a white grocery-getter, as Katie liked to call the so-called crossover SUVs, were parked in the driveway. A utility truck, bearing the blue and red logo of Calcom, blocked the concrete driveway on the right side of the house. Its right-side tires were flat.

For days, Elkins and several men would leave for hours at a time and then return carrying boxes of looted supplies and liquor. At times, they would return with women, treating them roughly as they forced them into the house. The men who constituted Elkins’s posse were hardened and undisciplined. But they wore military fatigues on occasion, and thus Katie didn’t want to take them lightly.

The residence was the only one occupied for several blocks. Nearby Orrville Street was littered with trashy properties containing junked cars and debris strewn about. It was hard for Katie to determine if the entire neighborhood had been looted other than the Elkins home, or if this was just the way the neighbors lived. In any event, the area was deserted and her target was now left alone except for a woman who rarely left the confines of the house.

This was only the second time Elkins had been left alone without his entourage. Katie had grown weary of waiting and decided it was time to make their move. Based upon their observations, the group of men had partied late into the night. Women’s screams had been heard during the evening, but Katie resisted the urge to assist them. She had to stay on mission. When they left this morning, the women were escorted into a truck and driven away.

“He’s alone now except for the other woman,” said Katie. “The back of the house has two exits, both of which lead to a concrete sidewalk and parking area. If he’s gonna bolt, it’ll be toward the adjacent house or into Newman Creek.”

“His boys are gone, so the pussy’s alone,” added Smalley. “Let’s get this job done and deliver him to Steven’s brother.”

Katie nodded and led the way without saying another word. Using the span of trees and overgrown weeds as cover, they worked their way to the driveway across the street. They crossed the aggregate, asphalt road and ducked behind the blue sedan, kneeling in the still-dewy grass.

The sound of the white screen door closing indicated that someone had exited the home and was on the front porch. Katie and Smalley remained deathly still. Because they were only thirty feet away, they couldn’t risk discovery.

A belch followed by a fart revealed all Katie needed to know. She crawled around the back of the sedan and peered under its trunk to get a better view. It was Elkins!

He was standing on the front porch in his boxer shorts, scratching his belly through an open, light blue robe. He wasn’t wearing any shoes and appeared sleepy and disheveled. Katie didn’t hesitate as Elkins stepped down the two steps toward the white grocery-getter.

She ran at full speed toward Elkins and lowered her head, driving it into his ribs. He flew to the ground with a grunt, having had the wind knocked out of him. Katie scrambled to her knees and pounced on his back, pummeling him in the ribs and the sides of his face. Elkins tried to cover himself, but Katie was relentless.

Smalley joined her side and drew his weapon, pointing it at Elkins. “Don’t move, fucker,” yelled Smalley as Katie brusquely grabbed the man’s arms and pulled them behind his back.

Elkins, still gasping for air, attempted to wiggle loose, but Katie had a death grip on his wrists. Smalley handed her the zip-tie wrist cuffs and she affixed them tightly to his wrists. She stood over him and stared down at him with utter contempt. Coward, she thought.

“Don’t move,” shouted Smalley towards the front door. Katie pulled Steven’s Glock G38, which she’d been carrying since the hunt began. She’d be the first to admit she fantasized about blowing this fucker’s head wide open. But she’d made a commitment to Sarge.

Smalley repeated the command to the woman looking stoically through the screened front door. Her face was morose and her brunette hair unkempt. There was a sadness about her that Katie could sense. The woman never said a word as she slowly retreated into the home and closed the front door, locking the bolt lock behind her.

The temporary distraction allowed Elkins to recover somewhat from the beating Katie had inflicted upon him. He got to his feet and started running toward the street, shoulders waggling back and forth, as his hands were restricting his movement. Katie chased him, pouncing on him like a cat. She shoved him down onto the road, ripping a gash in his forehead and most likely breaking his oversized nose.

Elkins rolled over and two teeth fell into the street. “I know you,” he groaned.

Katie pointed the gun in Elkins’s face and repeated Steven’s dying words, “Karma is just a polite way of saying ha-ha, fuck you.”

Chapter 49

Monday, April 24, 2017

9:00 a.m.

The Grove at Hertfordshire

Watford, England

Through the picturesque countryside of Hertfordshire near Watford, England, a caravan of town cars with blacked-out windows carried the visitors around hilly curves and turns. Helicopters flew low overhead, and armed men dressed in dark suits dotted the landscape, providing surveillance. Roads were closed and the perimeter was secured. The entire town was on lockdown. An air of mystery permeated the senses.

Their destination, just eighteen miles from London, was The Grove—a centuries-old chateau built by the Earls of Clarendon, later turned into a spa and resort. Once Queen Victoria’s private retreat, The Grove was still at the forefront of decadence and luxury.

There were many labels attached to the visitors—cabal, consortium, secret societies. All of these terms implied conspiracy, intrigue, and connivance.

The visitors were real. Their names were synonymous with wealth and power—Soros, Rockefeller, Buffett, Gates, Bezos. Publicly, the visitors and members of these groups claimed to be merely a debating society of sorts, insisting they were simply a forum for leaders to listen, reflect and gather insights, unbound by official policy positions.

The groups had names—Bilderberg, Illuminati, Boston Brahmin, Trilateral Commission, CFR, and CGI. They were united in some close design together, usually to promote their private views or interests in an ideology, state, or other forum, often in secret, usually unbeknown to persons outside their group.

The members of these groups were the wealthy and powerful of the world. Some were driven by religious or political ideology. Others were in pursuit of additional wealth and power. Regardless of motivation, these global elites insisted upon one thing—control.

They sought power vacuums—voids to exploit. When there wasn’t one, they’d drive a bull through the china shop and create havoc while the thief sneaked in the back door and stole the diamonds out of the vault.

Their methods varied, but these elites insisted upon one thing—control.

These secretive cabals dominated media, governments, sports franchises, oil, gold, land, transportations, and the military-industrial complex. The list was long.

They sought out like-minded partners. They shared common interests, but above all, their common bond was control.

It was a vehicle through which private financier oligarchical interests were able to impose their policies on nominally sovereign governments. The desired result was one international identity that observed one set of universal values, including establishing the United Nations as a de facto world government and making NATO the world’s military.

Control.

In the coming days, these powerful men and women would advance an agenda that fostered centralized command of public opinion through propaganda. Their common goal of a New World Order, which provided only the illusion of democracy, would be discussed in detail.

These visitors would envision manufactured crises and perpetual wars, all designed to meet their common goal—control.

The threat to America was not always obvious to the marginally informed. Americans had become accustomed to force-fed news media reports. The print media regurgitated stories off the Associated Press wire, with a smattering of local interest news and sports mixed in. The cable news networks watched each other and then attempted to sensationalize the topic du jour as part of their manufactured twenty-four-hour news cycle to boost ratings.

The machinations of these groups were not just the subject matter of conspiracy theories or well-written fiction. The people were real, and so was their money. One high-priority goal was to curtail American sovereignty.

Millions of dollars were given to progressive organizations such as ACORN, the National Council of La Raza, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and Planned Parenthood. Even more millions were used to fund the Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson and Baltimore. Under-the-table funding advanced the radical causes of Anonymous and environmental extremism.

In American politics, the creation of tax-exempt, Internal Revenue Code section 527 organizations enabled these groups to circumvent campaign finance laws and funnel hundreds of millions of dollars into their preferred candidates’ campaigns. Their donation of funds to political campaigns came with strings attached—control.

Financially, they wanted the United States to capitulate to their goals by taking steps to curtail American sovereignty. These power brokers would like nothing better than for America to become subservient to international bodies—more power for groups such as the World Bank and International Monetary Fund. Their tools included currency manipulation and one-sided trade agreements.

In the English countryside, representatives of all the groups came together in a manner reminiscent of the five major crime families that came together at the infamous Apalachin Meeting in New York. Their common interest lay in the creation of a global network of cartels more powerful than any nation on Earth, destined to control the necessities of life of humanity. Their ultimate goal—a one world government with a single, global marketplace, policed by one world army, and financially regulated by one World Bank.

Control.

However, there was one customary guest that was purposefully excluded—the Boston Brahmin, a well-respected geopolitical powerhouse that had dictated the direction of world events since the founding of America. The changes within the Boston Brahmin’s hierarchy led the other cabals of the world to a single conclusion—Henry Winthrop Sargent IV represented the greatest threat to their existence and goals since collusion of this sort was devised.

The meetings were held and the conclusions were reached. It was nothing short of remarkable what John Morgan’s protégé had accomplished. The world had the opportunity to bring America to its knees and the opportunity was fading with each passing day.

The members of the secret societies gathered at The Grove chastised one another for an overreliance on their President. In hindsight, the rich and powerful agreed they should’ve done more to thwart this newcomer’s efforts. But how could they? Henry Sargent had built up a movement from the grass roots. We never should’ve underestimated the resolve of those patriotic Americans.

Don’t they realize we know what’s best for them?

Control.

Discussions and debates were concluded. A consensus was reached. The threat must be addressed. They gave the order.

Terminate.

Chapter 50

Monday, May 1, 2017

7:00 p.m.

Morgan Residence

39 Sears Road

Brookline, Massachusetts

This was not a day Sarge ever fantasized about as a child, or as an adult. As his career at Harvard flourished, the thought of marriage and a family slowly faded from his consciousness. He’d made peace with it.

His early tryst with Abbie was a distant memory now. Their relationship was never approved by her father. For years, Sarge questioned Morgan’s motivation in pushing the two away from a life together. The events of the past year provided answers. Morgan always envisioned his godson as being his successor as the head of the Boston Brahmin. Sarge marrying his only daughter was not part of the grand plan.

His relationship with Julia started out like many—unrestrained sex. They’d been introduced years ago, instantly became attracted to each other, and then became physically intimate. At the time, both were driven professionals. Julia was trying to make a name for herself at the Boston Herald while Sarge performed the necessary steps to become a tenured professor at the Harvard Kennedy School of government.

The two remained close friends and confidants as well as frequent dining and bed mates. But the invisible hand of John Morgan, the consummate puppeteer, played an indeterminate role in their relationship. It wasn’t until recently that Julia mentioned the reason she’d reached out to Sarge on that fateful afternoon in December when they reconnected was at the insistence of Morgan. It was that evening during their dinner at Stephanie’s, followed by their time in bed together, that the two fell in love permanently.

Sarge knew at that point they would marry. He didn’t want Julia to leave that next morning. Eventually, the sleepovers became more frequent until Julia began moving things into Sarge’s closets and dressers. This was how relationships evolved—with a flurry of activity, then a gradual process of growing accustomed to one another, and then the realization that she was the one.

Then sometimes, life got in the way. The events of the past twelve months could’ve been scripted in Hollywood. The drama surrounding their lives prevented any thoughts of marriage. But, after all, what was drama but life with the dull bits cut out. The last year didn’t provide much dull, that was all.

A smile broke across Sarge’s face as Julia began to walk up the aisle. Her beautiful gown trailed behind her, but their unborn baby led the way. He’d asked her what style dress she would choose. The wedding shops had not reopened. In response, Julia had touched his face and said, “I’ll find the dress that makes me feel most like myself because that’s who you fell in love with.”

A tear ran down his cheek as the anticipation built. He, Julia, and their baby were about to become a family.

*****

It was a perfect spring evening for a wedding. Above the grassy lawn, which contained sharply dressed guests sitting in their white folding chairs spaced perfectly in rows, the stars shone in the blue-black sky. A cool breeze blew away some of the lingering heat of the unusually warm May afternoon, and for a moment, he almost forgot where he was—and what he was tasked to do.

He glanced around the perimeter of the touching wedding scene. He noticed the M4 rifles kept within arm’s reach and the .45-caliber pistols the security team carried at their hips. As soon as he saw those, the illusion was shattered. The target’s team was ready for a battle—as was he.

No mission was ever safe. He knew that. But danger had been part of this particular operation’s appeal. It was an adventure, a well-paying one, and adventures were supposed to be exciting.

He’d snuck into the woods near the mansion earlier that day, dressed as a paparazzi complete with a long-lens camera. If he was discovered, he’d be viewed as an opportunist seeking to make a few bucks off the exclusive wedding pictures.

He spent the afternoon moving from tree to tree, seeking cover and identifying the perfect line of sight. He found a centralized location to dig his cache, storing his all-black clothing and his Remington Defense CSR—concealable sniper rifle. If he was discovered, the tools of the trade would be safe for use another day.

The assassin had been encouraged to work with a team, but he respectfully declined. He worked alone, and besides, it only took one precisely directed bullet to kill a man. His skills were unsurpassed and a team only enhanced his ability to be discovered. That was why he was known to everyone in the industry as Solus.

*****

The oak trees lining Morgan’s yard were wrapped and filled with white lights—twinkle lights as the Quinn daughters called them. White candlelit lanterns nestled into the grass were surrounded by pale pink flowers recently plucked from the estate’s gardens.

Sarge felt like it would take an eternity for Julia to reach him. He resisted the urge to run down the aisle between their guests and sweep Julia off her feet. Patiently, Sarge waited until she took her place next to him. The world disappeared. Everything became silent. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his chest—full of love.

At first, they both agreed they didn’t want a long drawn-out ceremony. They didn’t believe in quotes describing how to love one another. They knew how to do that. So, other than the formalities required by the State of Massachusetts, Julia and Sarge would speak from the heart.

Tears of joy streamed down Julia’s face and Sarge retrieved a handkerchief out of his pocket. Aunt Stella told him he’d need it, and she was right. He gently dabbed the tears away, instantly generating an ahh from their guests. Julia blushed and smiled. She was ready now.

*****

Solus had unpacked his bundle of ballistic badassery. The Remington Defense CSR, commonly referred to as a rucksack rifle, was designed specifically as a lightweight, packable sniper’s tool. For Solus, deploying the weapon was literally a snap, as the larger pieces could be assembled quickly. It was a process he’d practiced a thousand times.

The rifle was designed to run suppressed. Solus attached the AAC SR-7 7.62 mm silencer. He was confident in his ability, only intending to use one shot to find his mark. The silencer only ensured a head start as he made his getaway. In the woods, near his perch, he’d leave evidence that the hit was performed by a member of the United States military. His employers desired to leave a trail of breadcrumbs directly to the office of the President.

Solus was a man without a country. He cared little for politics or power. He had to make a living. Killing in the shadows was a job, nothing more or less.

*****

Julia spoke first. “Before I met you, before I even knew you existed, I knew you were coming. I was ready to give my whole heart to someone, and now here you are.” Julia suppressed a nervous giggle as a few more tears appeared on her face. She continued.

“Sometimes I think I’m going to explode from how much I love you. I’m completely consumed by you. And tonight, we get to become one.

“Sarge, I promise to love you until after our children are old and gray.” She smiled as she held her belly with both hands. “You’re my dream and my reality, my future and my present, my whole heart and my best friend. I thank God for bringing you to me and igniting that light. I can’t wait to shine together and illuminate our love for the world to see.”

Sarge smiled, gathered his emotions and spoke to the love of his life. “From the moment I met you, I wanted more. I wanted more of your infectious smile, I wanted more of your adorable giggle, and I wanted more of your love. You had me hooked from the beginning.

“I never imagined that I could fall in love with my best friend. Every day, I am encouraged by your love, and as your husband, I promise to always put you first. I promise to be the best father I can be to our children, and I promise to always make you my priority.”

“Julia,” said Sarge, “I promise to love you until after my heart bursts. I love you, and I’m going to love you for eternity.”

*****

Solus relaxed. He took a deep breath and focused on the target. Steady. Steady.

SWISH.

Silence.

“Hostile is KIA,” whispered Drew into his comms. He pulled his sidearm and approached the body carefully, although the perfect placement of the blade left no doubt as to the result.

Drew firmly grabbed the handle and jerked the serrated blade out of the temple of the dead assassin, leaving a hole for blood and brain matter to ooze to the ground. He crouched over the body, staring at the results. Then, without another word, he wiped the blade on the man’s clothing and returned it to its leather sheath under his jacket. The sound of approaching footsteps indicated that he could return to the wedding.

*****

The minister spoke next. “Marriage is an honorable estate. It’s not to be entered into lightly or unadvisedly, but discreetly and soberly. Into this relationship these two persons come now to be joined. I ask you both that if you know any reason why you should not be joined in marriage, you make it known at this time.”

Sarge turned to the crowd and managed a smile. He made eye contact with Drew, who stood off to the side with Morrell. Drew nodded his approval. The minister continued.

“Henry, do you take Julia to be your wedded wife, to live together in bonds of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her so long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” said Sarge.

“Julia, do you take Henry to be your wedded husband, to live together in bonds of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him so long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” replied Julia.

Donald handed Sarge the wedding ring. He turned to Julia and took her hand, placing the ring on her finger.

“As I place this ring upon your hand, may our separate lives become one as we commit everlasting love to one another.”

Julia began to cry and giggle. Sarge tried to suppress his emotions, but couldn’t. His tears were flowing as well. Susan handed her Sarge’s ring and she fumbled momentarily before slipping it onto his finger.

She repeated his words. “As I place this ring upon your hand, may our separate lives become one as we commit everlasting love to one another.”

The attendees erupted in applause as the minister said, “Inasmuch as you have consented together in marriage, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the laws of the State of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Henry Winthrop Sargent the fourth!”

Chapter 51

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Election Day

Morgan Residence

39 Sears Road

Brookline, Massachusetts

Since the first election in 1789 when Americans overwhelmingly elected George Washington as President, the United States was one of the few nations in the world where voting was on public display. The right to vote in a free and fair election was the most basic of the rights afforded by the Constitution. Throughout the nation’s history, the consequences of elections directly affected many of the other rights of the American people.

Voting mattered both to the health of the American political system and to the people who participated in it. If a particular community was apathetic toward the process, turning out well below other neighborhoods, elected officials would pay less attention and make fewer appeals to those constituents.

Likewise, people who were associated with a host of positive civic, health and social factors were likely to vote and therefore worthy of their elected officials’ attention. Citizens known to be more engaged in activities like volunteering or contacting their election officials on important issues were most likely to influence the direction of their government.

Voting was the cornerstone of the American democracy, but sadly far too few people had voted in elections in the past. However, in the first election since the apocalyptic conditions beset the nation, democracy was enjoyed by citizens in most of America.

At the St. Louis Convention, the delegates from the participating states adopted the platform proposed by Sarge’s contingent and the two dozen states led by Texas that supported his vision of bringing America back.

Besides the nonparticipating states in the Western United States, a dozen or so delegations objected to the immediacy of the presidential election process. At least a dozen states vehemently objected to the impeachment of the President on the grounds that he was acting lawfully and within the confines of the law as established by prior administrations.

A compromise was discussed and adopted, resulting in the immediate scheduling of the presidential election and subsequent inauguration of the new President. The former President’s term would end on that date.

By acclimation, the new President would serve a term of office extending until November 2018, when the next presidential and congressional elections would be held. The delegates to the St. Louis Convention agreed that this would allow the interim President time to deal with the many problems facing the country.

Further, the nation’s capital was designated to be Boston. It was going to take a monumental effort by the National Guard to reclaim Washington, D.C., from the nearly one hundred thousand residents who survived the collapse and were trapped within the city by the military. By all reports, the city was in shambles, including the nation’s most coveted historical treasures.

Some delegates at the Constitutional Convention argued the integrity of the elections couldn’t be guaranteed because of the lack of operating voting machines. Illegal voting would run rampant, many opined.

Illegal voting by immigrants in America was nothing new. Almost as long as there had been elections, there had been Tammany Halls trying to game the ballot box. Tammany Hall was the name given to the Democratic political machine that manipulated vote counts for nearly one hundred years, ensuring a Democratic mayor for New York City.

Well into the twentieth century, the political machines asserted their ascendancy on Election Day, stealing elections in the boroughs of New York and the wards of Chicago via the Daley political bosses. Quite regularly, Irish immigrants were lined up and counted in canvasses long before the term citizen ever applied to them.

Prior to the cyber attack, the political machines continued their manipulations of election results. The evidence was indisputable that illegal aliens were registering and voting in federal, state, and local elections. America had always been a nation of immigrants and she remained today the most welcoming nation in the world. Newly minted citizens who went through the immigration process quickly assimilated and became part of the American culture.

In the middle of one debate with a delegation from New Mexico, Sarge argued that compliance with our laws required no more of an illegal alien than it did of a lawful citizen. It was a violation of both state and federal law for illegal aliens who were not citizens to vote in elections. These violations effectively disenfranchised legitimate voters, whose votes were diluted, and the practice must be prevented.

So the process of voting for this historic, special election was a simple one. Paper ballots were used. The ballot boxes were monitored by two individuals known in the community as being fair.

The person seeking to vote was required to provide picture identification in the form of a government-issued driver’s license, passport, military ID, a photo ID from the federal or state government, or a handgun carry permit with a photo. If they couldn’t produce an ID, they couldn’t vote.

There were no voting machines to be hacked. There were no illegal aliens voting. Lines were long, but the voters enjoyed the process. It was smooth, orderly, and legitimate.

Results would be tabulated and then delivered to the temporary office of the Federal Election Commission in Boston by May nineteenth. The new President would take the oath of office and provide the inaugural address the same day, May twenty-sixth.

America would have a new beginning—a much-needed fresh start.

Chapter 52

Friday, May 26, 2017

Inauguration Day

3:00 p.m.

Boston Common

Boston, Massachusetts

The scene on Boston Common was surreal. Throughout history, the Common had been crisscrossed daily by busy Bostonians and countless visitors. America’s oldest park was more than a green oasis in a metropolitan city. It was a piece of ancient landscape that had belonged uninterrupted to the people of Boston since 1634. Purchased as land set aside for the common use of its townspeople, Boston Common still served this purpose and was one of the most popular Boston attractions for relaxing and enjoying nature.

In 1768, as tensions mounted between the colonies and Britain, the British Redcoats occupied the Common for eight years for use as an encampment. Soon thereafter, the colonists declared their independence and became free.

Martin Luther King Jr. led a peaceful freedom march from Roxbury to Boston Common in the sixties. The Civil Rights Act, landmark legislation in this nation’s history, was enacted during the same time frame.

Pope John Paul II conducted Mass on this patch of historic ground. He was an advocate for the peaceful resistance to communism. Within a year of his visit, a small group of ten people in Poland led by Lech Walesa created a freedom movement in the Iron Curtain of Eastern Europe, which grew to ten million, resulting in the fall of communism.

Over the years, events were held, visitors came and went, but Boston Common remained the same. It was pastoral in style—open and informal. It would always be owned by Bostonians, and Americans. It was the Common Land.

Anticipation was building as the dignitaries and politicians on stage took their seats. The real guests of honor were the hundreds of thousands of Americans, survivors, who packed the Common and its side streets. They weren’t spiffily dressed in suits or fancy gowns. The citizens of America wore camo and blue jeans—shorts and flip-flops.

Before the collapse, they were the silent majority—families who worked hard to make ends meet. They weren’t politically active. They didn’t protest by blocking traffic or closing down restaurants or constantly raising their hands in the air. These families focused on what was most important to them—love of one another.

After the collapse, it was this love of family that gave them strength. They became self-reliant. They didn’t look to the government for a solution to the lack of water, food, security, and shelter. They dug deep within their souls and found a way.

The silent majority, once a sleeping giant, was awakened by the collapse of the nation’s power grid—the reset. The silent majority filled Boston Common, looking for someone to lead their cause by launching America into a new era signified by the motto Choose Freedom.

Article II, Section One, Clause 8 of the Constitution required that he be sworn in. Although the Constitution did not require it, the oath of office was typically administered to the incoming President by the Chief Justice of the United States.

But these were unusual circumstances because the election was disputed by the existing administration and the four states that refused to participate in the process. The nation was fractured. It would have to be repaired by diplomacy, the rulings of the Supreme Court, or a second civil war.

For that reason, Chief Justice Roberts abstained from administering the oath in order to maintain impartiality in what could possibly become a heated Supreme Court battle. In his place, Chief Judge Jeffrey Howard of the First Circuit Court of Appeals would administer the oath.

The oath of office clause in the Constitution was specific in its wording. The Founding Fathers demanded the President swear to protect and defend the Constitution. In the past, this important aspect of the presidential duties had been cast aside. The new President hoped to reverse that trend.

He raised his right hand and repeated the words. “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.”

Shouts of choose freedom began to echo off the buildings enveloping the Common. Freedom-loving Americans of all walks of life waved American and Rebellious flags alike. It was a proud moment.

Sarge turned to his mentor, John Morgan, and shook his hand, which turned into a heartfelt hug. His newly elected Vice President, Abbie Morgan, stood by her father’s side. Abbie beamed with pride as she undertook this journey with her childhood friend.

Sarge made his way down the row of chairs to shake the hands of the Boston Brahmin patriarchs—Lowell, Cabot, Winthrop, Peabody, Bradlee, and Endicott. The descendants of the Founding Fathers were now able to take center stage as one of their own became the leader of the free world.

They’d offered him a teleprompter to deliver his inauguration speech, but he declined. Sarge had said, When you’re speaking on principle and conviction, you don’t need a scripted speech to enable you to parse your words. You just let them flow.

“My fellow Americans, to a few of us here today, this is a solemn and most momentous occasion. Yet, in the history of our nation, it is a commonplace occurrence. The orderly transfer of authority as called for in the Constitution routinely takes place as it has for over two hundred years, and few of us stop to think how unique we really are. In the eyes of many in the world, this orderly transition of power between one duly constituted government and the next, something we accept as normal, is nothing less than a miracle.

“But we live in troubled times. These United States were confronted with a catastrophic event of epic proportions. We’ve suffered through the collapse of our economy and society in a way that has never occurred in our nation’s history. It shattered the lives of all of us. It cost me the life of my brother. It has left America divided.

“President Abraham Lincoln once said, ‘A house divided against itself cannot stand.’ At a time when our country and its citizens should be coming together toward a common goal—recovery—we have certain constituencies defying the will of the people. The former President refuses to release the reins of power despite the fact that his term of office expired long ago. He has convinced four states to willfully violate the Constitution and refused to participate in the process that we are so fortunate to have been given us.

“Once again, I, on behalf of all of you, call on the former President to step aside. Stop being an impediment to democracy. Let’s set our differences aside and move forward to restoring America to its former greatness. Now, Mr. President, without delay, for the good of the nation.

“I’m honored to have been elected your President. It is a heavy burden to lead this nation, but it is one I willingly accept. Despite our political differences, I’m calling on all Americans to join me. We must act today in order to preserve tomorrow. And let there be no misunderstanding—we are going to act, beginning today.

“The task is formidable. The challenges will not go away in days, weeks, or months, but they will go away. They will go away because we, as Americans, have the will and desire now, as we’ve had in the past, to do whatever needs to be done to preserve this last and greatest bastion of freedom.

“In this present crisis, government is not the solution to our problem. From time to time, we have been tempted to believe that society has become too complex to be managed by self-rule, that government by an elite group is superior to government for, by, and of the people. But if no one among us is capable of governing himself, then who among us has the capacity to govern someone else? All of us together, in and out of government, must bear the burden.

“The solutions we seek must be equitable, with no one group singled out to pay a higher price. America is made up of men and women who raise our food, patrol our streets, man our factories, defend our borders, teach our children, build our homes, and heal us when we’re sick. They are, in short, we the people, the citizens of this great nation proudly called Americans.

“Know this. All Americans must share in the productive work of this new beginning and all must share in the bounty of a revived economy. With the idealism and fair play that are the core of our system and our strength, we can have a strong and prosperous America at peace with itself and the world.

“So, as we begin, let us take inventory. We’re a nation that has a government—not the other way around. And this makes us special among the nations of the earth. Our government has no power except that granted to it by the people.

“As Americans, we have every right to dream heroic dreams and work hard to make them a reality. Those who say that we are in a time when there are no heroes just don’t know where to look.

“Please, all of you. Look to your right and left. Each and every one of you is a hero because you’re alive. You’re a survivor. Shake each other’s hands in congratulations. Embrace each other in love for your fellow man. You are Americans. You are all heroes.

“Can we solve the problems confronting us? The answer is an unequivocal and emphatic yes. I did not take the presidential oath of office with the intention of presiding over the dismantling of the most exceptional nation in the history of the world.

“The crisis we are facing today requires our best effort and our willingness to believe in ourselves and to believe in our capacity to perform great deeds. It requires all Americans to believe that together, with God’s help, we can and will resolve the problems that now confront us.

“After all, why shouldn’t we believe that? We are Americans.

“God bless you, and thank you for the trust and faith you’ve placed in me to lead the charge.

“Choose freedom, my friends!”

Sarge stood back and basked in the sun, the glory, the pomp and circumstance. The nation was divided in a way not seen since the Civil War. With his speech, he intended to send a subtle message to the former President. Do the right thing, or else.

Sarge waved to the throngs that were now chanting choose freedom in unison. He was shaking hands with those around him and sharing hugs with all who approached him. Suddenly, Morrell approached him and rushed to his side. Two other members of his security detail closed in from the left.

“Mr. President, we have to go. Now, sir!”

Epilogue

May 26, 2017

5:26 p.m.

Morgan Residence

39 Sears Road

Brookline, Massachusetts

Sarge dashed up the marble stairs, taking them two at a time, totally disregarding the potential to slip and fall. He ran down the hallway toward the second master suite. Julia’s screams of pain emanated from the room and echoed off the ornate marble walls.

“I’m here. I’m here,” Sarge repeated as he rushed into the room.

“Thank God,” screamed Julia. “Get over here and suffer with me, Mr. President.”

ARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH.

It was brutal.

Surrounded by Donald, Susan, and J.J., together with a specially picked group of obstetricians and nurses, Julia labored toward the birth of their child for the next thirty minutes.

Then he emerged.

A boy! A son! A little Sarge the Fifth.

The nurses immediately placed their son against Julia’s breasts. That skin-to-skin contact was a bonding moment mother and child would cherish forever. The doctor clamped his cord and Sarge ceremoniously cut it. Their baby was then lovingly wiped down, swaddled in a birthing blanket, and returned to his mother.

Everyone stood to the side reverently as Sarge and Julia cried tears of joy. They’d been through so much together. Now they were married and had started a family with a healthy baby boy.

Sarge kissed the tears off Julia’s cheek then planted his lips on their baby’s head. He whispered into Julia’s ear, “If I could give you one thing right now, I’d give you the ability to see yourself and our son through my eyes. Then you’d know how much I love you.”

Julia touched his cheek, looked to their son and responded, “I love you.”

Sarge turned to accept congratulations from Donald, J.J. and Brad, who’d just entered the room.

“Damn, I missed it!” Brad exclaimed.

“Well, I’d say it’s all over but the shouting, but you missed that too.” Donald laughed. Susan pummeled her husband for that joke.

Morrell gently knocked on the door and waited to be invited in. Sarge approached the man he trusted with his life. The two exchanged whispers and Morrell stood to the side.

“You have to go back, don’t you?” asked Julia.

“Yes,” replied Sarge as he approached her bedside. He took Julia’s hand and squeezed it. “But only for a short while. I just need to make an appearance at the inaugural ball at the State House. It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Honey, I understand,” said Julia. She snuggled their baby a little and then looked back to Sarge. “We’re in good hands. I love you and I’ll miss you.”

“I love you more,” said Sarge and he kissed his wife and child once more.

Sarge buttoned his jacket and started out the door when Donald asked, “Do you need me to go with you?”

Without turning, Sarge replied, “No, I’ve got this, DQ.”

As Sarge followed Morrell out the door, he didn’t see the puzzled look that suddenly came over Donald’s face as he realized Sarge had referred to him as DQ, just as Steven used to.

As Sarge reached the first floor of the Morgan home, Morrell led him down the hallway toward the kitchen instead of out the front entry to the awaiting presidential limousine. They entered a pantry closet and made their way down a spiral staircase to a dark basement corridor.

Two members of Sarge’s security detail flanked a metal door at the end of the dimly lit hallway. As he approached, he took a deep breath. He’d waited for this moment for a long time. He looked through the small eight-inch-by-eight-inch window in the door. It was time.

“Thanks, gentlemen,” Sarge said as he entered the room.

The room was padded with sound insulation except for the polished concrete floor. There were no windows; only a single light illuminated the room from above. The room was empty except for a solitary metal chair and a gagged Rory Elkins bound to it.

For several minutes, Sarge stood and stared at the man who’d stabbed his brother in the back. For a man who had the gift of eloquence and who’d replayed this moment over and over again in his mind, he was at a loss for words.

Sarge paced the floor and circled Elkins, who could only follow Sarge’s movements with his eyes. Sarge began to pepper him with questions, despite Elkins’s inability to respond.

“You didn’t have to kill my brother. You had no cause to. Did you do it for money? To gain favor?”

Elkins didn’t move or attempt to speak. He sat there, his eyes growing wider as Sarge became more agitated. Sarge became angry. He’d waited so long for this opportunity to confront his brother’s murderer.

From all sides, Sarge circled the solitary chair and began screaming at Elkins.

“You’re a traitor! A coward! You betrayed us all!”

Sarge continued to circle.

“You killed my brother!”

Then, as quickly as the anger rose, it subsided. Sarge exhaled as he put his hands in his pockets. He stared at Elkins for another moment, then turned and walked toward the door. He reached for the metal handle and then caught himself.

He looked through the small glass window at his security detail, which waited outside. He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled to himself.

Sarge’s family was upstairs—Julia, his loving wife and their newborn baby. He was in the home of his mentor—John Morgan—the man who helped guide him since the death of Sarge’s dad.

His brother, Steven, was killed in cold blood by this treacherous murderer.

Sarge unbuttoned his jacket, reached for his shoulder holster, and removed Steven’s gun, which he’d retrieved from Katie. As he gripped the handle, Steven’s voice swirled through Sarge’s mind. Fuck me.

“What the hell,” muttered Sarge as he turned and shot Elkins between the eyes, unceremoniously toppling his dead, worthless soul to the concrete floor.

With that, Henry Winthrop Sargent IV started day one of his presidency.

Thank you

Thank you for joining me on this journey and reading The Boston Brahmin series. I hope you’ve found this six volume work both entertaining, as well as informative. If so, please take a moment to leave a review for each of the books in the series by following the links below.  They are so important to me.

Thank you my friends, and remember, always

CHOOSE FREEDOM!

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APPENDIX A

THE IMPACT OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

“All revolutions are failures,” George Orwell once wrote, “but they are not all the same failure.”

A revolution, from the Latin word revolutio, meaning a turnaround, is a fundamental change in power or organizational structures that takes place over a relatively short period of time. It is typically used to refer to political change. Revolutions have occurred throughout human history and vary widely in terms of methods, duration and motivating ideology. There results include major changes in culture, economy and socio-political institutions. Here are what I consider to be the ten most influential revolutions.

Most revolutions—those in France and Russia spring to mind—certainly didn’t end well. But the American Revolution was a success by all standards and measures. It created a stable and prosperous nation state, under a constitution that is still the law of the land two centuries after its adoption. New men, in a New World, violently shook off the bonds of monarchy, yet restored order in good time—something the peoples of old Europe never managed to achieve.

The American Revolution (1775-83) is also known as the American Revolutionary War and the U.S. War of Independence. The conflict arose from growing tensions between residents of Great Britain’s 13 North American colonies and the colonial government, which represented the British crown. Skirmishes between British troops and colonial militiamen in Lexington and Concord in April 1775 kicked off the armed conflict, and by the following summer, the rebels were waging a full-scale war for their independence. France entered the American Revolution on the side of the colonists in 1778, turning what had essentially been a civil war into an international conflict. After French assistance helped the Continental Army force the British surrender at Yorktown, Virginia, in 1781, the Americans had effectively won their independence, though fighting would not formally end until 1783.

THE SEEDS OF LIBERTY

For more than a decade before the outbreak of the American Revolution in 1775, tensions had been building between colonists and the British authorities. Attempts by the British government to raise revenue by taxing the colonies (notably the Stamp Act of 1765, the Townshend Tariffs of 1767 and the Tea Act of 1773) met with heated protest among many colonists, who resented their lack of representation in Parliament and demanded the same rights as other British subjects. Colonial resistance led to violence in 1770, when British soldiers opened fire on a mob of colonists, killing five men in what was known as the Boston Massacre. After December 1773, when a band of Bostonians dressed as Mohawk Indians boarded British ships and dumped 342 chests of tea into Boston Harbor, an outraged Parliament passed a series of measures (known as the Intolerable, or Coercive Acts) designed to reassert imperial authority in Massachusetts.

In response, a group of colonial delegates (including George Washington of Virginia, John and Samuel Adams of Massachusetts, Patrick Henry of Virginia and John Jay of New York) met in Philadelphia in September 1774 to give voice to their grievances against the British crown. This First Continental Congress did not go so far as to demand independence from Britain, but it denounced taxation without representation, as well as the maintenance of the British army in the colonies without their consent, and issued a declaration of the rights due every citizen, including life, liberty, property, assembly and trial by jury. The Continental Congress voted to meet again in May 1775 to consider further action, but by that time violence had already broken out. On April 19, local militiamen clashed with British soldiers in Lexington and Concord, Massachusetts, marking the first shots fired in the Revolutionary War.

DECLARING INDEPENDENCE - An important first step

When the Second Continental Congress convened in Philadelphia, delegates–including new additions Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson–voted to form a Continental Army, with Washington as its commander in chief. On June 17, in the Revolution’s first major battle, colonial forces inflicted heavy casualties on the British regiment of General William Howe at Breed’s Hill in Boston. The engagement (known as the Battle of Bunker Hill) ended in British victory, but lent encouragement to the revolutionary cause. Throughout that fall and winter, Washington’s forces struggled to keep the British contained in Boston, but artillery captured at Fort Ticonderoga in New York helped shift the balance of that struggle in late winter. The British evacuated the city in March 1776, with Howe and his men retreating to Canada to prepare a major invasion of New York.

By June 1776, with the Revolutionary War in full swing, a growing majority of the colonists had come to favor independence from Britain. On July 4, the Continental Congress voted to adopt the Declaration of Independence, drafted by a five-man committee including Franklin and John Adams but written mainly by Jefferson. That same month, determined to crush the rebellion, the British government sent a large fleet, along with more than 34,000 troops to New York. In August, Howe’s Redcoats routed the Continental Army on Long Island; Washington was forced to evacuate his troops from New York City by September. Pushed across the Delaware River, Washington fought back with a surprise attack in Trenton, New Jersey, on Christmas night and won another victory at Princeton to revive the rebels’ flagging hopes before making winter quarters at Morristown.

THE WAR'S TURNING POINT - The Battle of Saratoga, New York

British strategy in 1777 involved two main prongs of attack, aimed at separating New England (where the rebellion enjoyed the most popular support) from the other colonies. To that end, General John Burgoyne’s army aimed to march south from Canada toward a planned meeting with Howe’s forces on the Hudson River. Burgoyne’s men dealt a devastating loss to the Americans in July by retaking Fort Ticonderoga, while Howe decided to move his troops southward from New York to confront Washington’s army near the Chesapeake Bay. The British defeated the Americans at Brandywine Creek, Pennsylvania, on September 11 and entered Philadelphia on September 25. Washington rebounded to strike Germantown in early October before withdrawing to winter quarters near Valley Forge.

Howe’s move had left Burgoyne’s army exposed near Saratoga, New York, and the British suffered the consequences of this on September 19, when an American force under General Horatio Gates defeated them at Freeman’s Farm (known as the first Battle of Saratoga). After suffering another defeat on October 7 at Bemis Heights (the Second Battle of Saratoga), Burgoyne surrendered his remaining forces on October 17. The American victory Saratoga would prove to be a turning point of the American Revolution, as it prompted France (which had been secretly aiding the rebels since 1776) to enter the war openly on the American side, though it would not formally declare war on Great Britain until June 1778. The American Revolution, which had begun as a civil conflict between Britain and its colonies, had become a world war.

THE WAR DRAGS ON - 1778-1781

During the long, hard winter at Valley Forge, Washington’s troops benefited from the training and discipline of the Prussian military officer Baron Friedrich von Steuben (sent by the French) and the leadership of the French aristocrat Marquis de Lafayette. On June 28, 1778, as British forces under Sir Henry Clinton (who had replaced Howe as supreme commander) attempted to withdraw from Philadelphia to New York, Washington’s army attacked them near Monmouth, New Jersey. The battle effectively ended in a draw, as the Americans held their ground, but Clinton was able to get his army and supplies safely to New York. On July 8, a French fleet commanded by the Comte d’Estaing arrived off the Atlantic coast, ready to do battle with the British. A joint attack on the British at Newport, Rhode Island, in late July failed, and for the most part the war settled into a stalemate phase in the North.

The Americans suffered a number of setbacks from 1779 to 1781, including the defection of General Benedict Arnold to the British and the first serious mutinies within the Continental Army. In the South, the British occupied Georgia by early 1779 and captured Charleston, South Carolina in May 1780. British forces under Lord Charles Cornwallis then began an offensive in the region, crushing Gates’ American troops at Camden in mid-August, though the Americans scored a victory over Loyalist forces at King’s Mountain in early October. Nathanael Green replaced Gates as the American commander in the South that December. Under Green’s command, General Daniel Morgan scored a victory against a British force led by Colonel Banastre Tarleton at Cowpens, South Carolina, on January 17, 1781.

DESIRE FOR FREEDOM AND PERSEVERENCE PREVAILS

By the fall of 1781, Greene’s American forces had managed to force Cornwallis and his men to withdraw to Virginia’s Yorktown peninsula, near where the York River empties into Chesapeake Bay. Supported by a French army commanded by General Jean Baptiste de Rochambeau, Washington moved against Yorktown with a total of around 14,000 soldiers, while a fleet of 36 French warships offshore prevented British reinforcement or evacuation. Trapped and overpowered, Cornwallis was forced to surrender his entire army on October 19. Claiming illness, the British general sent his deputy, Charles O’Hara, to surrender; after O’Hara approached Rochambeau to surrender his sword (the Frenchman deferred to Washington), Washington gave the nod to his own deputy, Benjamin Lincoln, who accepted it.

Though the movement for American independence effectively triumphed at Yorktown, contemporary observers did not see that as the decisive victory yet. British forces remained stationed around Charleston, and the powerful main army still resided in New York. Though neither side would take decisive action over the better part of the next two years, the British removal of their troops from Charleston and Savannah in late 1782 finally pointed to the end of the conflict. British and American negotiators in Paris signed preliminary peace terms in Paris late that October, and on September 3, 1783, Great Britain formally recognized the independence of the United States in the Treaty of Paris. At the same time, Britain signed separate peace treaties with France and Spain (which had entered the conflict in 1779), bringing the American Revolution to a close after eight long years.

IMPACT - AMERICAN EXCEPTIONALISM

America is an exceptional nation. It stands out when compared to all other countries in the world. And while it stands out on range of indicators—the U.S. has the biggest economy, its military is unmatched, and Americans give more to charity than anyone else—the true meaning of American exceptionalism is not to be found in the country’s achievements. America is truly exceptional because, unlike all other nations which derive their identity and purpose from some narrow unifying quality—an ethnic character, a common religion, a shared history—America is built on the universal ideas of equality and liberty. America is the only nation in the world founded on a creed that is applicable to all men and all times. This is what makes America an exceptional country.

God Bless America!

To begin reading Choose Freedom, book six in The Boston Brahmin series, click here:

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APPENDIX B

DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to affect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the meantime exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

Signed:

New Hampshire:

Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple, Matthew Thornton

Massachusetts:

John Hancock, Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry

Rhode Island:

Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery

Connecticut:

Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott

New York:

William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris

New Jersey:

Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Pennsylvania:

Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross

Delaware:

Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Maryland:

Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton

Virginia:

George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

North Carolina:

William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn

South Carolina:

Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Georgia:

Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

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APPENDIX C

CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES

We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Article I

Section 1. All legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of Representatives.

Section 2. The House of Representatives shall be composed of members chosen every second year by the people of the several states, and the electors in each state shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the state legislature.

No person shall be a Representative who shall not have attained to the age of twenty five years, and been seven years a citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that state in which he shall be chosen.

Representatives and direct taxes shall be apportioned among the several states which may be included within this union, according to their respective numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole number of free persons, including those bound to service for a term of years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons.

The actual Enumeration shall be made within three years after the first meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent term of ten years, in such manner as they shall by law direct. The number of Representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty thousand, but each state shall have at least one Representative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the state of New Hampshire shall be entitled to chuse three, Massachusetts eight, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations one, Connecticut five, New York six, New Jersey four, Pennsylvania eight, Delaware one, Maryland six, Virginia ten, North Carolina five, South Carolina five, and Georgia three.

When vacancies happen in the Representation from any state, the executive authority thereof shall issue writs of election to fill such vacancies.

The House of Representatives shall choose their speaker and other officers; and shall have the sole power of impeachment.

Section 3. The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each state, chosen by the legislature thereof, for six years; and each Senator shall have one vote.

Immediately after they shall be assembled in consequence of the first election, they shall be divided as equally as may be into three classes. The seats of the Senators of the first class shall be vacated at the expiration of the second year, of the second class at the expiration of the fourth year, and the third class at the expiration of the sixth year, so that one third may be chosen every second year; and if vacancies happen by resignation, or otherwise, during the recess of the legislature of any state, the executive thereof may make temporary appointments until the next meeting of the legislature, which shall then fill such vacancies.

No person shall be a Senator who shall not have attained to the age of thirty years, and been nine years a citizen of the United States and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that state for which he shall be chosen.

The Vice President of the United States shall be President of the Senate, but shall have no vote, unless they be equally divided.

The Senate shall choose their other officers, and also a President pro tempore, in the absence of the Vice President, or when he shall exercise the office of President of the United States.

The Senate shall have the sole power to try all impeachments. When sitting for that purpose, they shall be on oath or affirmation. When the President of the United States is tried, the Chief Justice shall preside: And no person shall be convicted without the concurrence of two thirds of the members present.

Judgment in cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office of honor, trust or profit under the United States: but the party convicted shall nevertheless be liable and subject to indictment, trial, judgment and punishment, according to law.

Section 4. The times, places and manner of holding elections for Senators and Representatives, shall be prescribed in each state by the legislature thereof; but the Congress may at any time by law make or alter such regulations, except as to the places of choosing Senators.

The Congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such meeting shall be on the first Monday in December unless they shall by law appoint a different day.

Section 5. Each House shall be the judge of the elections, returns and qualifications of its own members, and a majority of each shall constitute a quorum to do business; but a smaller number may adjourn from day to day, and may be authorized to compel the attendance of absent members, in such manner, and under such penalties as each House may provide.

Each House may determine the rules of its proceedings, punish its members for disorderly behavior, and, with the concurrence of two thirds, expel a member.

Each House shall keep a journal of its proceedings, and from time to time publish the same, excepting such parts as may in their judgment require secrecy; and the yeas and nays of the members of either House on any question shall, at the desire of one fifth of those present, be entered on the journal.

Neither House, during the session of Congress, shall, without the consent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any other place than that in which the two Houses shall be sitting.

Section 6. The Senators and Representatives shall receive a compensation for their services, to be ascertained by law, and paid out of the treasury of the United States. They shall in all cases, except treason, felony and breach of the peace, be privileged from arrest during their attendance at the session of their respective Houses, and in going to and returning from the same; and for any speech or debate in either House, they shall not be questioned in any other place.

No Senator or Representative shall, during the time for which he was elected, be appointed to any civil office under the authority of the United States, which shall have been created, or the emoluments whereof shall have been increased during such time: and no person holding any office under the United States, shall be a member of either House during his continuance in office.

Section 7. All bills for raising revenue shall originate in the House of Representatives; but the Senate may propose or concur with amendments as on other Bills.

Every bill which shall have passed the House of Representatives and the Senate, shall, before it become a law, be presented to the President of the United States; if he approve he shall sign it, but if not he shall return it, with his objections to that House in which it shall have originated, who shall enter the objections at large on their journal, and proceed to reconsider it. If after such reconsideration two thirds of that House shall agree to pass the bill, it shall be sent, together with the objections, to the other House, by which it shall likewise be reconsidered, and if approved by two thirds of that House, it shall become a law. But in all such cases the votes of both Houses shall be determined by yeas and nays, and the names of the persons voting for and against the bill shall be entered on the journal of each House respectively. If any bill shall not be returned by the President within ten days (Sundays excepted) after it shall have been presented to him, the same shall be a law, in like manner as if he had signed it, unless the Congress by their adjournment prevent its return, in which case it shall not be a law.

Every order, resolution, or vote to which the concurrence of the Senate and House of Representatives may be necessary (except on a question of adjournment) shall be presented to the President of the United States; and before the same shall take effect, shall be approved by him, or being disapproved by him, shall be repassed by two thirds of the Senate and House of Representatives, according to the rules and limitations prescribed in the case of a bill.

Section 8. The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes, duties, imposts and excises, to pay the debts and provide for the common defense and general welfare of the United States; but all duties, imposts and excises shall be uniform throughout the United States;

To borrow money on the credit of the United States;

To regulate commerce with foreign nations, and among the several states, and with the Indian tribes;

To establish a uniform rule of naturalization, and uniform laws on the subject of bankruptcies throughout the United States;

To coin money, regulate the value thereof, and of foreign coin, and fix the standard of weights and measures;

To provide for the punishment of counterfeiting the securities and current coin of the United States;

To establish post offices and post roads;

To promote the progress of science and useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries;

To constitute tribunals inferior to the Supreme Court;

To define and punish piracies and felonies committed on the high seas, and offenses against the law of nations;

To declare war, grant letters of marque and reprisal, and make rules concerning captures on land and water;

To raise and support armies, but no appropriation of money to that use shall be for a longer term than two years;

To provide and maintain a navy;

To make rules for the government and regulation of the land and naval forces;

To provide for calling forth the militia to execute the laws of the union, suppress insurrections and repel invasions;

To provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining, the militia, and for governing such part of them as may be employed in the service of the United States, reserving to the states respectively, the appointment of the officers, and the authority of training the militia according to the discipline prescribed by Congress;

To exercise exclusive legislation in all cases whatsoever, over such District (not exceeding ten miles square) as may, by cession of particular states, and the acceptance of Congress, become the seat of the government of the United States, and to exercise like authority over all places purchased by the consent of the legislature of the state in which the same shall be, for the erection of forts, magazines, arsenals, dockyards, and other needful buildings; — And

To make all laws which shall be necessary and proper for carrying into execution the foregoing powers, and all other powers vested by this Constitution in the government of the United States, or in any department or officer thereof.

Section 9. The migration or importation of such persons as any of the states now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by the Congress prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight, but a tax or duty may be imposed on such importation, not exceeding ten dollars for each person.

The privilege of the writ of habeas corpus shall not be suspended, unless when in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety may require it.

No bill of attainder or ex post facto Law shall be passed.

No capitation, or other direct, tax shall be laid, unless in proportion to the census or enumeration herein before directed to be taken.

No tax or duty shall be laid on articles exported from any state.

No preference shall be given by any regulation of commerce or revenue to the ports of one state over those of another: nor shall vessels bound to, or from, one state, be obliged to enter, clear or pay duties in another.

No money shall be drawn from the treasury, but in consequence of appropriations made by law; and a regular statement and account of receipts and expenditures of all public money shall be published from time to time.

No title of nobility shall be granted by the United States: and no person holding any office of profit or trust under them, shall, without the consent of the Congress, accept of any present, emolument, office, or title, of any kind whatever, from any king, prince, or foreign state.

Section 10. No state shall enter into any treaty, alliance, or confederation; grant letters of marque and reprisal; coin money; emit bills of credit; make anything but gold and silver coin a tender in payment of debts; pass any bill of attainder, ex post facto law, or law impairing the obligation of contracts, or grant any title of nobility.

No state shall, without the consent of the Congress, lay any imposts or duties on imports or exports, except what may be absolutely necessary for executing it's inspection laws: and the net produce of all duties and imposts, laid by any state on imports or exports, shall be for the use of the treasury of the United States; and all such laws shall be subject to the revision and control of the Congress.

No state shall, without the consent of Congress, lay any duty of tonnage, keep troops, or ships of war in time of peace, enter into any agreement or compact with another state, or with a foreign power, or engage in war, unless actually invaded, or in such imminent danger as will not admit of delay.

Article II

Section 1. The executive power shall be vested in a President of the United States of America. He shall hold his office during the term of four years and, together with the Vice President, chosen for the same term, be elected, as follows:

Each state shall appoint, in such manner as the Legislature thereof may direct, a number of electors, equal to the whole number of Senators and Representatives to which the State may be entitled in the Congress: but no Senator or Representative, or person holding an office of trust or profit under the United States, shall be appointed an elector.

The electors shall meet in their respective states, and vote by ballot for two persons, of whom one at least shall not be an inhabitant of the same state with themselves. And they shall make a list of all the persons voted for, and of the number of votes for each; which list they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the seat of the government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate. The President of the Senate shall, in the presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the certificates, and the votes shall then be counted. The person having the greatest number of votes shall be the President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of electors appointed; and if there be more than one who have such majority, and have an equal number of votes, then the House of Representatives shall immediately choose by ballot one of them for President; and if no person have a majority, then from the five highest on the list the said House shall in like manner choose the President. But in choosing the President, the votes shall be taken by States, the representation from each state having one vote; A quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from two thirds of the states, and a majority of all the states shall be necessary to a choice. In every case, after the choice of the President, the person having the greatest number of votes of the electors shall be the Vice President. But if there should remain two or more who have equal votes, the Senate shall choose from them by ballot the Vice President.

The Congress may determine the time of choosing the electors, and the day on which they shall give their votes; which day shall be the same throughout the United States.

No person except a natural born citizen, or a citizen of the United States, at the time of the adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the office of President; neither shall any person be eligible to that office who shall not have attained to the age of thirty five years, and been fourteen Years a resident within the United States.

In case of the removal of the President from office, or of his death, resignation, or inability to discharge the powers and duties of the said office, the same shall devolve on the Vice President, and the Congress may by law provide for the case of removal, death, resignation or inability, both of the President and Vice President, declaring what officer shall then act as President, and such officer shall act accordingly, until the disability be removed, or a President shall be elected.

The President shall, at stated times, receive for his services, a compensation, which shall neither be increased nor diminished during the period for which he shall have been elected, and he shall not receive within that period any other emolument from the United States, or any of them.

Before he enter on the execution of his office, he shall take the following oath or affirmation: — "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Section 2. The President shall be commander in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the militia of the several states, when called into the actual service of the United States; he may require the opinion, in writing, of the principal officer in each of the executive departments, upon any subject relating to the duties of their respective offices, and he shall have power to grant reprieves and pardons for offenses against the United States, except in cases of impeachment.

He shall have power, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, to make treaties, provided two thirds of the Senators present concur; and he shall nominate, and by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, shall appoint ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls, judges of the Supreme Court, and all other officers of the United States, whose appointments are not herein otherwise provided for, and which shall be established by law: but the Congress may by law vest the appointment of such inferior officers, as they think proper, in the President alone, in the courts of law, or in the heads of departments.

The President shall have power to fill up all vacancies that may happen during the recess of the Senate, by granting commissions which shall expire at the end of their next session.

Section 3. He shall from time to time give to the Congress information of the state of the union, and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient; he may, on extraordinary occasions, convene both Houses, or either of them, and in case of disagreement between them, with respect to the time of adjournment, he may adjourn them to such time as he shall think proper; he shall receive ambassadors and other public ministers; he shall take care that the laws be faithfully executed, and shall commission all the officers of the United States.

Section 4. The President, Vice President and all civil officers of the United States, shall be removed from office on impeachment for, and conviction of, treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors.

Article III

Section 1. The judicial power of the United States, shall be vested in one Supreme Court, and in such inferior courts as the Congress may from time to time ordain and establish. The judges, both of the supreme and inferior courts, shall hold their offices during good behaviour, and shall, at stated times, receive for their services, a compensation, which shall not be diminished during their continuance in office.

Section 2. The judicial power shall extend to all cases, in law and equity, arising under this Constitution, the laws of the United States, and treaties made, or which shall be made, under their authority; — to all cases affecting ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls; — to all cases of admiralty and maritime jurisdiction; — to controversies to which the United States shall be a party; — to controversies between two or more states; — between a state and citizens of another state; — between citizens of different states; — between citizens of the same state claiming lands under grants of different states, and between a state, or the citizens thereof, and foreign states, citizens or subjects.

In all cases affecting ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls, and those in which a state shall be party, the Supreme Court shall have original jurisdiction. In all the other cases before mentioned, the Supreme Court shall have appellate jurisdiction, both as to law and fact, with such exceptions, and under such regulations as the Congress shall make.

The trial of all crimes, except in cases of impeachment, shall be by jury; and such trial shall be held in the state where the said crimes shall have been committed; but when not committed within any state, the trial shall be at such place or places as the Congress may by law have directed.

Section 3. Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying war against them, or in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort. No person shall be convicted of treason unless on the testimony of two witnesses to the same overt act, or on confession in open court.

The Congress shall have power to declare the punishment of treason, but no attainder of treason shall work corruption of blood, or forfeiture except during the life of the person attainted.

Article IV

Section 1. Full faith and credit shall be given in each state to the public acts, records, and judicial proceedings of every other state. And the Congress may by general laws prescribe the manner in which such acts, records, and proceedings shall be proved, and the effect thereof.

Section 2. The citizens of each state shall be entitled to all privileges and immunities of citizens in the several states.

A person charged in any state with treason, felony, or other crime, who shall flee from justice, and be found in another state, shall on demand of the executive authority of the state from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the state having jurisdiction of the crime.

No person held to service or labor in one state, under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be due.

Section 3. New states may be admitted by the Congress into this union; but no new states shall be formed or erected within the jurisdiction of any other state; nor any state be formed by the junction of two or more states, or parts of states, without the consent of the legislatures of the states concerned as well as of the Congress.

The Congress shall have power to dispose of and make all needful rules and regulations respecting the territory or other property belonging to the United States; and nothing in this Constitution shall be so construed as to prejudice any claims of the United States, or of any particular state.

Section 4. The United States shall guarantee to every state in this union a republican form of government, and shall protect each of them against invasion; and on application of the legislature, or of the executive (when the legislature cannot be convened) against domestic violence.

Article V

The Congress, whenever two thirds of both houses shall deem it necessary, shall propose amendments to this Constitution, or, on the application of the legislatures of two thirds of the several states, shall call a convention for proposing amendments, which, in either case, shall be valid to all intents and purposes, as part of this Constitution, when ratified by the legislatures of three fourths of the several states, or by conventions in three fourths thereof, as the one or the other mode of ratification may be proposed by the Congress; provided that no amendment which may be made prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight shall in any manner affect the first and fourth clauses in the ninth section of the first article; and that no state, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate.

Article VI

All debts contracted and engagements entered into, before the adoption of this Constitution, shall be as valid against the United States under this Constitution, as under the Confederation.

This Constitution, and the laws of the United States which shall be made in pursuance thereof; and all treaties made, or which shall be made, under the authority of the United States, shall be the supreme law of the land; and the judges in every state shall be bound thereby, anything in the Constitution or laws of any State to the contrary notwithstanding.

The Senators and Representatives before mentioned, and the members of the several state legislatures, and all executive and judicial officers, both of the United States and of the several states, shall be bound by oath or affirmation, to support this Constitution; but no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the United States.

Article VII

The ratification of the conventions of nine states, shall be sufficient for the establishment of this Constitution between the states so ratifying the same.

Done in convention by the unanimous consent of the states present the seventeenth day of September in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty seven and of the independence of the United States of America the twelfth.

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APPENDIX D

BILL OF RIGHTS AND AMENDMENTS

Original Ten Amendments: The Bill of Rights, Passed by Congress September 25, 1789.

Ratified December 15, 1791.

Amendment I

Freedoms, Petitions, Assembly

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Amendment II

Right to bear arms

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

Amendment III

Quartering of soldiers

No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Amendment IV

Search and arrest

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Amendment V

Rights in criminal cases

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb, nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.

Amendment VI

Right to a fair trial

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed; which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the assistance of counsel for his defence.

Amendment VII

Rights in civil cases

In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury shall be otherwise re-examined in any Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.

Amendment VIII

Bail, fines, punishment

Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Amendment IX

Rights retained by the People

The enumeration in the Constitution of certain rights shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.

Amendment X

States' rights

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.

Amendment 11

Lawsuits against states

The Judicial power of the United States shall not be construed to extend to any suit in law or equity, commenced or prosecuted against one of the United States by Citizens of another State, or by Citizens or Subjects of any Foreign State.

February 7, 1795.

Amendment 12

Presidential elections

The Electors shall meet in their respective states, and vote by ballot for President and Vice-President, one of whom, at least, shall not be an inhabitant of the same state with themselves; they shall name in their ballots the person voted for as President, and in distinct ballots the person voted for as Vice-President, and they shall make distinct lists of all persons voted for as President, and of all persons voted for as Vice-President, and of the number of votes for each, which lists they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the seat of the government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate;--The President of the Senate shall, in the presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the certificates and the votes shall then be counted;--The person having the greatest number of votes for President, shall be the President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of Electors appointed; and if no person have such majority, then from the persons having the highest numbers not exceeding three on the list of those voted for as President, the House of Representatives shall choose immediately, by ballot, the President. But in choosing the President, the votes shall be taken by states, the representation from each state having one vote; a quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from two-thirds of the states, and a majority of all the states shall be necessary to a choice. [And if the House of Representatives shall not choose a President whenever the right of choice shall devolve upon them, before the fourth day of March next following, then the Vice-President shall act as President, as in the case of the death or other constitutional disability of the President.]* The person having the greatest number of votes as Vice-President, shall be the Vice-President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of Electors appointed, and if no person have a majority, then from the two highest numbers on the list, the Senate shall choose the Vice-President; a quorum for the purpose shall consist of two-thirds of the whole number of Senators, and a majority of the whole number shall be necessary to a choice. But no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of President shall be eligible to that of Vice-President of the United States.

June 15, 1804.

Superseded by Section 3 of the Twentieth Amendment.

Amendment 13

Abolition of slavery

Section 1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.

Section 2. Congress shall have power to enforce these article by appropriate legislation.

December 6, 1865.

Amendment 14

Civil rights

Section 1. All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

Section 2. Representatives shall be apportioned among the several States according to their respective numbers, counting the whole number of persons in each State, excluding Indians not taxed. But when the right to vote at any election for the choice of electors for President and Vice President of the United States, Representatives in Congress, the Executive and Judicial officers of a State, or the members of the Legislature thereof, is denied to any of the male inhabitants of such State, being twenty-one years of age, and citizens of the United States, or in any way abridged, except for participation in rebellion, or other crime, the basis of representation therein shall be reduced in the proportion which the number of such male citizens shall bear to the whole number of male citizens twenty-one years of age in such State.

Section 3. No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress, or elector of President and Vice President, or hold any office, civil or military, under the United States, or under any State, who, having previously taken an oath, as a member of Congress, or as an officer of the United States, or as a member of any State legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any State, to support the Constitution of the United States, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof. But Congress may by a vote of two-thirds of each House, remove such disability.

Section 4. The validity of the public debt of the United States, authorized by law, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties for services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion, shall not be questioned. But neither the United States nor any State shall assume or pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion against the United States, or any claim for the loss or emancipation of any slave; but all such debts, obligations and claims shall be held illegal and void.

Section 5. The Congress shall have power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.

July 9, 1868.

Amendment 15

Black suffrage

Section 1. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.

Section 2. The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

February 3, 1870.

Amendment 16

Income taxes

The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States, and without regard to any census or enumeration.

February 3, 1913.

Amendment 17

Senatorial elections

The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two senators from each State, elected by the people thereof, for six years; and each Senator shall have one vote. The electors in each State shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the State legislature.

When vacancies happen in the representation of any State in the Senate, the executive authority of such State shall issue writs of election to fill such vacancies: Provided, That the legislature of any State may empower the executive thereof to make temporary appointments until the people fill the vacancies by election as the legislature may direct.

This amendment shall not be so construed as to affect the election or term of any Senator chosen before it becomes valid as part of the Constitution.

April 8, 1913.

Amendment 18

Prohibition of liquor

Section 1. After one year from the ratification of this article, the manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors within, the importation thereof into, or the exportation thereof from the United States and all territory subject to the jurisdiction thereof for beverage purposes is hereby prohibited.

Section 2. The Congress and the several States shall have concurrent power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Section 3. This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.

January 16, 1919. Repealed by the Twenty-First, December 5, 1933.

Amendment 19

Women's suffrage

The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any States on account of sex.

Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

August 18, 1920.

Amendment 20

Terms of office

Section 1. The terms of the President and Vice President shall end at noon the 20th day of January, and the terms of Senators and Representatives at noon on the 3d day of January, of the years in which such terms would have ended if this article had not been ratified; and the terms of their successors shall then begin.

Section 2. The Congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such meeting shall begin at noon on the 3d day of January, unless they shall by law appoint a different day.

Section 3. If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elect shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President. If a President shall not have been chosen before the time fixed for the beginning of his term, or if the President elect shall have failed to qualify, then the Vice President elect shall act as President until a President shall have qualified; and the Congress may by law provide for the case wherein neither a President elect nor a Vice President elect shall have qualified, declaring who shall then act as President, or the manner in which one who is to act shall be selected, and such person shall act accordingly until a President or Vice President shall have qualified.

Section 4. The Congress may by law provide for the case of the death of any of the persons from whom the House of Representatives may choose a President whenever the right of choice shall have devolved upon them, and for the case of the death of any of the persons from whom the Senate may choose a Vice President whenever the right of choice shall have devolved upon them.

Section 5. Sections 1 and 2 shall take effect on the 15th day of October following the ratification of this article.

Section 6. This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years from the date of its submission.

January 23, 1933.

Amendment 21

Repeal of Prohibition

Section 1. The eighteenth article of amendment to the Constitution of the United States is hereby repealed.

Section 2. The transportation or importation into any State, Territory, or possession of the United States for delivery or use therein of intoxicating liquors, in violation of the laws thereof, is hereby prohibited.

Section 3. The article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by conventions in the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.

December 5, 1933.

Amendment 22

Term Limits for the Presidency

Section 1. No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice, and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of the President more than once. But this Article shall not apply to any person holding the office of President when this Article was proposed by the Congress, and shall not prevent any person who may be holding the office of President, or acting as President, during the term within which this Article becomes operative from holding the office of President or acting as President during the remainder of such term.

Section 2. This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years from the date of its submission to the States by the Congress.

February 27, 1951.

Amendment 23

Washington, D.C., suffrage

Section 1. The District constituting the seat of government of the United States shall appoint in such manner as the Congress may direct:

A number of electors of President and Vice President equal to the whole number of Senators and Representatives in Congress to which the District would be entitled if it were a state, but in no event more than the least populous State; they shall be in addition to those appointed by the States, but they shall be considered, for the purposes of the election of President and Vice President, to be electors appointed by a State; and they shall meet in the District and perform such duties as provided by the twelfth article of amendment.

Section 2. The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

March 29, 1961.

Amendment 24

Abolition of poll taxes

Section 1. The right of citizens of the United States to vote in any primary or other election for President or Vice President, for electors for President or Vice President, or for Senator or Representative in Congress, shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or any State by reason of failure to pay any poll tax or other tax.

Section 2. The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

January 23, 1964.

Amendment 25

Presidential succession

Section 1. In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death or resignation, the Vice President shall become President.

Section 2. Whenever there is a vacancy in the office of the Vice President, the President shall nominate a Vice President who shall take office upon confirmation by a majority vote of both Houses of Congress.

Section 3. Whenever the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that he is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, and until he transmits to them a written declaration to the contrary, such powers and duties shall be discharged by the Vice President as Acting President.

Section 4. Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.

Thereafter, when the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that no inability exists, he shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive department or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit within four days to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Thereupon Congress shall decide the issue, assembling within forty-eight hours for that purpose if not in session. If the Congress, within twenty-one days after receipt of the latter written declaration, or, if Congress is not in session, within twenty-one days after Congress is required to assemble, determines by two-thirds vote of both Houses that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall continue to discharge the same as Acting President; otherwise, the President shall resume the powers and duties of his office.

February 10, 1967.

Amendment 26

18-year-old suffrage

Section 1. The right of citizens of the United States, who are eighteen years of age or older, to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of age.

Section 2. The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

June 30, 1971.

Amendment 27

Congressional pay raises

No law, varying the compensation for the services of the Senators and Representatives, shall take effect, until an election of Representatives shall have intervened.

May 7, 1992.

To begin reading Choose Freedom, book six in The Boston Brahmin series, click here:

BEGIN READING

Dramatis Personae

THE LOYAL NINE:

Sarge
– born Henry Winthrop Sargent IV. Son of former Massachusetts governor, godson of John Adams Morgan and a descendant of Daniel Sargent, Sr., wealthy merchant, and owner of Sargent’s Wharf during the Revolutionary War. He’s a tenured professor at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government in Cambridge. He is becoming well known around the country for his libertarian philosophy as espoused in his New York Times bestseller—Choose Freedom or Capitulation: America’s Sovereignty Crisis. Sarge resides at 100 Beacon Street in the Back Bay area of Boston. Sarge is romantically involved with Julia Hawthorne.

Steven Sargent – younger brother of Sarge. He is a graduate of the United States Naval Academy and a former platoon officer of SEAL Team 10. He is currently a contract operative for Aegis Security—code name Nomad. He resides on his yacht—the Miss Behavin’. Steven is romantically involved with Katie O’Shea.

Julia Hawthorne – descendant of the Peabody and Hawthorne families. First female political editor of the Boston Herald. She is the recipient of the National Association of Broadcasting Marconi Radio Award for her creation of an Internet radio channel for the newspaper. She is in a relationship with Sarge and lives with him at 100 Beacon.

The Quinn family – Donald is the self-proclaimed director of procurement. He is a former accountant and financial advisor who works directly with John Adams Morgan. Married to Susan Quinn with daughters Rebecca (age 7) and Penny (age 11). Donald and Susan coordinate all preparedness activities of The Loyal Nine. They reside in Brae Burn Country Club in Boston.

J.J. – born John Joseph Warren. He is a direct descendant of Dr. Joseph Warren, one of the original Sons of Liberty. The Warren family founded Harvard Medical and were field surgeons at the Battle of Bunker Hill. J.J. was an Army battalion surgeon at Joint Base Balad in Iraq. While stationed at JBB, J.J. saved the life of a female soldier who was injured saving the lives of others. He later became involved in a relationship with former Marine Second Lieutenant Sabina del Toro. He finished his career at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital in Jamaica Plain, where he also resides. He is affectionately known as the Armageddon Medicine Man.

Katie O’Shea – graduate of the United States Naval Academy who trained as a Naval Intelligence officer. After an introduction to John Adams Morgan, she quickly rose up the ranks of the intelligence community. She now is part of the President’s Intelligence Advisory Board. She resides in Washington, D.C. Katie is romantically involved with Steven Sargent.

Brad – born Francis Crowninshield Bradlee, a descendant of the Crowninshield family, a historic seafaring and military family dating back to the early 1600s. He is the battalion commander of the 25th Marine Regiment of 1st Battalion based at Fort Devens, Massachusetts. Their nickname is Cold Steel Warriors. He is an active member of Oathkeepers and the Three Percenters.

Abbie – Abigail Morgan, daughter of John Adams Morgan. United States senator from Massachusetts since 2008. A political independent, with libertarian leanings. She resides in Washington, D.C. She has been chosen as the running mate of the Democratic nominee for president. She briefly became romantically involved with her head of security, Drew Jackson, aka Slash, on the Aegis team.

THE BOSTON BRAHMIN:

John Adams Morgan – lineal descendant of President John Adams and Henry Sturgis Morgan, founder of J.P. Morgan. Morgan attended Harvard, obtaining a master’s degree in business and a law degree. Founded the Morgan-Holmes law firm with the grandson of Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. Among other concerns, he owns Morgan Global, an international banking and financial conglomerate. Extremely wealthy, Morgan is the recognized head of The Boston Brahmin.

Walter Cabot – direct descendant of John Cabot, shipbuilders during the time of the Revolutionary War. Wealthy philanthropist and CEO of Cabot Industries. He is part of Morgan’s inner circle. Married to Mary Cabot.

Lawrence Lowell – direct descendant of John Lowell, a federal judge in the first United States Continental Congress. Extremely wealthy and part of Morgan’s inner circle. Married to Constance Lowell.

Paul Winthrop – descendant of John Winthrop, one of the leading figures in the founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, his family became synonymous with the state’s politics and philanthropy. The Winthrops and Sargents became close when Sarge’s grandfather was governor of Massachusetts and his lieutenant governor was R. C. Winthrop. The families remained close and became a valuable political force on behalf of The Boston Brahmin. They have a French bulldog called Winnie the Frenchie. Married to Millicent Winthrop.

Arthur Peabody – Dr. Arthur Peabody is a plastic surgeon in private practice. He is the youngest of the Boston Brahmin at age fifty-five. His wife is Estelle, affectionately called Aunt Stella. They are Julia’s aunt and uncle. They’re direct descendants of the Hawthorne and Peabody lineage.

General Samuel Bradlee – former general and Secretary of Defense. A direct descendant of Nathaniel Bradlee, one of the key participants in the Boston Tea Party. He is Brad’s uncle.

Henry Endicott – great-grandson of former Secretary of War William Crowninshield Endicott. The Endicott family name is synonymous with warfare throughout the world as one of the largest manufacturers of advanced weapons systems in America. His third wife, Emily, is younger than some of his children.

OFFICERS OF 1st BATTALION, 25th MARINE REGIMENT:

Gunny Falcone – Master Gunnery Sergeant Frank Falcone. Under Brad’s command for years. A loyal member of the Mechanics. Stationed at Fort Devens. Primary on-base recruiter of soldiers to join the Mechanics.

Chief Warrant Officer Kyle Shore – young. Expert in sniping. Recorded two kill shots in Afghanistan at just over 2,500 yards. Stationed at Fort Devens. Also recruits members of the Mechanics.

First Lieutenant Chin Gibson – Boston native. A loyal member of the Mechanics.

SUPPORTING CHARACTERS:

Agent Joseph Pearson – special agent working for the Federal Protective Services—a division of Homeland Security. He first appeared at Fort Devens to meet with Brad in April 2016. A subsequent meeting at Fort Devens with Brad following the cyber attack became very contentious. He is now the special liaison to the Citizen Corps governor of FEMA Region I—James O’Brien. His office is located on High Street in Boston.

Citizen Corps Governor James O’Brien – former president of the Boston Carmen’s Union—one of the oldest and largest public service employees’ unions in the city. O’Brien is a staunch supporter of the President and is known to have organized-crime connections. He is a fierce political opponent of Republican Governor Charlie Baker. He was named the new governor of Region I. His office is located on High Street in Boston.

Major General Zhang Wei – General from China placed in charge of the United Nations Peacekeeping Forces.

Governor Charlie Baker – Governor of Massachusetts. First Republican in decades to be endorsed by the left-leaning Boston Globe newspaper.

Marion La Rue – Member of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters. Called upon by union leaders in Boston to undertake special union activities, including the orchestrated walkout of MBTA bus drivers during the St. Patrick’s Day festivities.

Ronald Archibald – Newly appointed town chairman of the board of selectman in Belchertown, Massachusetts, a small town just to the west of Prescott Peninsula.

J-Rock – Jarvis Rockwell, leader of the unified black gangs of Dorchester, Roxbury, and Mattapan in South Boston. He rose to power after the death of his unborn child during a race riot in Copley Square in April 2016. He is recruited by Governor O’Brien to loot the wealthy neighborhoods of Boston.

Joaquin Guzman – Head of a Central American drug cartel known as Mara Salvatrucha, or MS-13, which predominantly operates in the East Boston ghettos. He is recruited by Governor O’Brien to loot the wealthy neighborhoods of Boston.

John Willis – also known as Bac Guai John, or more commonly as the White Devil. He is the only Caucasian in Chinatown and the undisputed head of the Ping On gang. Over time he rose through the ranks and became the leading oxycodone importer from South Florida—a three-billion-dollar-a-year industry. He has entered into an alliance with The Loyal Nine.

General Mason J. Sears – descendant of Richard Sears, an early settler of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the seventeenth century.  General Mason J. Sears, USMC, is the current Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and has been designated by the President to implement the Declaration of Martial Law. He is an insider for John Morgan and The Boston Brahmin.

Joe Sciacca – Boston Herald’s chief editor.

Malcolm Lowe – John Morgan’s trusted assistant. Former undersecretary of state during Morgan’s tenure as Secretary of State. He handles sensitive matters for Mr. Morgan.

Sabina del Toro – former Marine second lieutenant deployed to Iraq, assigned to the 6th Marine Regiment under the 2nd Marine Division based at Camp Lejeune. The 6th was primarily a peacekeeping force deployed throughout the Sunni Anbar province, which included Fallujah, just west of Baghdad. Sabs, as she prefers to be called, was seriously injured protecting children from a car bomb blast. She lost her left arm and left leg as a result of her heroics. She was in a relationship with J.J. She died in Martial Law, book three, during a confrontation with local residents.

ZERO DAY GAMERS:

Andrew Lau – MIT professor of Korean descent. A brilliant mind that created the Zero Day Gamers as a way to utilize his talents for personal financial gain.

Anna Fakhri – MIT graduate assistant to Professor Lau, of Arabic descent. She prides herself on her “Internet detective work.” She speaks multiple Arabic languages.

Leonid “Leo” Malvalaha – MIT graduate assistant to Professor Lau, of Russian descent. He is very adept at creating complex viruses, worms, and Trojans used in cyber-attack activities. He speaks fluent Russian.

Herm Walthaus – newest member of the Zero Day Gamers. MIT graduate student. Introverted, but extremely analytical. Stays abreast of the latest tools and techniques available to hackers.

AEGIS TEAM:

Nomad – Steven Sargent.

Slash – Drew Jackson. Former SEAL Team member who worked briefly for private contractors like Blackwater. Born and raised in Tennessee, where his family farm is located. He has excellent survival skills. He was assigned to Senator Abigail Morgan’s security team that works with her Secret Service detail.

Bugs – Paul Hittle. Former Army Special Forces medic, who left the Green Berets for contract security work. He owns a ranch in East Texas, provided to him as compensation for his service to Aegis.

Sharpie – Raymond Bower. Former Delta Force, who now operates a lucrative private equity fund venture with former classmates from Harvard. He resides in New York City.

Primary Scene Locations

100 Beacon – Renovated residential building located in the heart of the Back Bay area of Boston. Located on the lower end of the Boston Common, just to the south of Cambridge and the Charles River, the top three floors of the eleven story building were renovated as a veritable fortress. The top floor housed Sarge’s residence, and the Prepper Pantry. The floor below it, was intended to provide housing for The Loyal Nine and The Boston Brahmin. The ninth floor contained an armory, a small medical trauma center, a jail cell, and large storage area. The rooftop provided three hundred and sixty degree views of the city, and overlooked Storrow Drive and Cambridge.

73 Tremont – historic building in downtown Boston located at 73 Tremont Street. (Pronounced “trem-mont”) Formerly a historic hotel, the building was purchased by John Morgan to house the top floor offices of The Boston Brahmin. 73 Tremont overlooks the gold dome of the Massachusetts State House and Boston Common.

Fort Devens – is a United States military installation located in northern Massachusetts. It is the home to First Battalion, 25th Marine Regiment, headed up by Lt. Col. Bradlee.  It is also the location of a Federal Bureau of Prisons Medical Facility.

Prescott Peninsula (1PP) – The largest land mass in the Quabbin Reservoir, Prescott Peninsula was completely surrounded by the reservoir and was largely unimproved except for an abandoned radio astronomy observatory where the old town of Prescott Center once stood. The observatory was renovated by the Quinn’s to create a state-of-the-art bug-out location, known as 1 Prescott Peninsula, or 1PP. Bungalows were built around 1PP to house The Boston Brahmin and the soldiers from Fort Devens who were tasked with protecting 1PP.

Quabbin Reservoir – the largest body of water in the State of Massachusetts. Located in the central part of the state, it was formed by the creation of dams and dikes in the 1930s, and became federal government owned and was largely undeveloped. The largest land mass, Prescott Peninsula, was completely surrounded by the reservoir and was largely unimproved except for the abandoned radio astronomy observatory which was renovated to create 1PP.

Quabbin Visitor Center – located on the southernmost shore of the Quabbin Reservoir, the Quabbin Visitor Center is a federal style building built to house a museum, offices and a Massachusetts State Police barracks. It was commandeered by Ronald Archibald and the townspeople of Belchertown, MA.

Belchertown, MA – is a small town in Hampshire County on the western shore of the Quabbin Reservoir, west of Prescott Peninsula. The population of fifteen thousand was now reduced to five thousand. Citizen Corps Governor O’Brien appointed Ronald Archibald as the town chairman of the board of selectman.

99 High Street – the former offices of FEMA Regions One, and current offices of the new Citizen Corps Governor, James O’Brien. The building is located in downtown Boston, overlooking Boston Harbor to the east.

630 Washington – the site of the famous Liberty Tree. At the time of the Revolutionary War, a great elm tree stood in front of the grocery store located here. All the great political meetings of the Sons of Liberty, and their insurgent arm known as the Mechanics, were held in this square. Now, it is the clandestine meeting place of the modern-day Mechanics.

Massachusetts State House - was completed on January 11, 1798, and is widely acclaimed as one of the more magnificent public buildings in the country. The land for the State House was originally used as John Hancock’s cow pasture. Its most distinct feature, the golden dome, was once made of wood, but was later overlaid with copper by Paul Revere. It was covered with 23-karat gold leaf for the first time in 1874, but was painted grey during World War II to protect the city from bombing attacks. It is under the golden dome that senators, state representatives, and the governor conduct the daily business of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Boston Common – sitting at the foot of the Massachusetts State House steps, Boston Common was established in 1634 and is America’s oldest public park. Puritan colonists purchased the land rights to the Common’s forty-four acres from the first settler of the area, Anglican minister William Blackstone. The price was thirty pounds, and each homeowner paid him six shillings. The pasture then became known as the Common Land and was used to graze local livestock until 1830. Also referred to as a trayning field, over one thousand Redcoats made camp on the Common during the British occupation of Boston in 1775. It was from here that three brigades of Redcoats left to make the fateful trip to Lexington and Concord. It has hosted some of the greatest orators in American history.

Previously in The Boston Brahmin series

BOOK ONE: THE LOYAL NINE

All empires collapse eventually and America is no exception.

The Boston Brahmin series begins in December of 2015 and the timeframe of The Loyal Nine, book one in The Boston Brahmin series, continues through April 2016. Steven Sargent, in his capacity as Nomad, an Aegis deep-cover operative, undertakes several black-ops missions in Ukraine, Switzerland, and Germany. The purposes of the operations become increasingly suspect to Steven and his brother, Sarge. It is apparent that Steven’s actual employer, John Morgan, is orchestrating a series of events as part of a grander scheme.

Sarge continues to teach at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government. He begins to make public appearances after publishing a New York Times bestseller Choose Freedom or Capitulation: America’s Sovereignty Crisis. During this time, he rekindles his relationship with Julia Hawthorne, who is also celebrating national notoriety for her accomplishments at the Boston Herald newspaper. The two take a trip to Las Vegas for a convention and become unwilling participants in a cyber attack on the Las Vegas power grid. Throughout The Loyal Nine, Sarge and Julia observe the economic and societal collapse of America.

The unraveling of society in America is evident as the chasm between the haves and have-nots widens, resulting in hostilities between labor unions and their employers. There are unintended consequences of these actions, and numerous deaths are the result.

Racial tensions are on the rise across the country, and Boston becomes ground zero for social unrest when a beloved retired bus driver is beaten to death during the St. Patrick’s Day festivities. In protest, a group of marchers descend upon Copley Square at the end of the Boston Marathon, resulting in a clash with police. The protestors are led by Jarvis J-Rock Rockwell, leader of the unified black gangs of Dorchester, Roxbury, and Mattapan in South Boston. The march quickly gets out of hand, and J-Rock’s pregnant girlfriend is struck by the police, resulting in her death and the death of their unborn child.

The Quinn family—Donald, Susan and their young daughters—are caught up in an angry mob scene at a local mall, relating to the Black Lives Matter protests. Donald decides to accelerate the Loyal Nine’s preparedness activities as he gets the sense America is on the brink of collapse.

The reader gets an inside look at the morning security briefings in the White House Situation Room. Katie O’Shea becomes a respected rising star within the intelligence community while solidifying her role as a conduit for information to John Morgan.

John Morgan continues to act as a world power broker. He manipulates geopolitical events for the financial gain of his wealthy associates—the Boston Brahmin. He carefully orchestrates the rise to national prominence of his daughter, Senator Abigail Morgan.

As a direct descendant of the Founding Fathers, Morgan is sickened to watch America descend into collapse. Morgan believes the country can return to its former greatness. He recognizes drastic measures may be required. He envisions a reset of sorts, but what that entails is yet to be determined.

Throughout The Loyal Nine, the Zero Day Gamers make a name for themselves in the hacktivist community as their skills and capabilities escalate from cyber vandalism to cyber ransom to cyber terror. Professor Andrew Lau and his talented graduate assistants create ingenious methods of cyber intrusion. At times, they question the morality of their activities. But the ransoms they extract from their victims are too lucrative to turn away.

The end game, the mission statement of the Zero Day Gamers, is succinct:

One man’s gain is another man’s loss; who gains and who loses is determined by who pays.

But who else loses in their deadly game?

BOOK TWO:  CYBER ATTACK

You won’t know from whom, or from where, but you’ll certainly know when.

Cyber Attack, book two in The Boston Brahmin series, begins with the Zero Day Gamers testing their skills by taking over control of an American Airlines 757. Throughout Cyber Attack, the Zero Day Gamers conduct various cyber intrusions, including compromising a nuclear power plant in Jefferson City, Missouri. But one of the Gamers, in an attempt to impress a young lady, makes a mistake. His cyber snooping into the laptop of Abbie Morgan following the Democratic National Convention is discovered.

Meanwhile, over the summer, the Loyal Nine increase their preparedness activities. Through some legislative maneuvering, John Morgan acquires Prescott Peninsula at the Quabbin Reservoir in central Massachusetts. The Quabbin Reservoir is the largest body of water in the State of Massachusetts. Located in the central part of the state, it was formed by the creation of dams and dikes in the 1930s and became federal government owned and was largely undeveloped. Prescott Peninsula is completely surrounded by the reservoir and was largely unimproved except for an abandoned radio astronomy observatory where the old town of Prescott Center once stood. The entire acquisition encompasses nearly forty square miles. He immediately tasks Donald and Susan Quinn with renovating the property into a high-tech bug-out location for the Boston Brahmin.

While Donald, Susan, J.J., and Sabs focus their attention on Prescott Peninsula, Sarge is making a name for himself on the speaker’s circuit as a straight-talk libertarian. His relationship with Julia Hawthorne has grown, and they continue to observe world events with an eye towards preparedness.

After the hack of Abbie’s computer, through some excellent cyber forensics on the part of Katie O’Shea, the Zero Day Gamers are located and contacted by Steven Sargent and Malcolm Lowe, acting on behalf of John Morgan. The three orchestrate a ruse upon Andrew Lau and his team of cyber mercenaries for hire.

Morgan has determined that America is descending into collapse, both socially and economically, and is in need of a reset. The Zero Day Gamers are the perfect tool to accomplish this purpose.

Morgan has conducted several private meetings with the President, culminating with a face-to-face discussion in August of 2016. The two agree—a reset is necessary, and each will play a vital role in bringing America to its knees only to build the country back in their respective images. These two powerful political players navigate a complex game of chess, not realizing the unintended consequences on the people of America.

As Cyber Attack closes its final chapter in early September 2016, Andrew Lau is forced to make a choice. Does he watch his young proteges die by a gunshot to the head at the hands of Morgan’s men, or does he push the button that will result in the end of life as we know it?

Lau makes his choice, and his sophisticated cyber attack causes a cascading collapse of the Western and Eastern Interconnected Grid representing ninety percent of America’s electricity. Only Texas, whose grid is not connected to the rest of the nation, is spared.

BOOK THREE:  MARTIAL LAW

The End Begins Tomorrow.

The Loyal Nine are scattered throughout the country. Each faces their own set of unique circumstances and challenges.

John Morgan, despite his meticulous, well-thought plans, makes one critical mistake—he loses track of his daughter’s whereabouts. Despite his efforts, Morgan is unable to call off the cyber attack. This leads him to frantically arrange a trip to Florida to extract his daughter and bring her to safety. Just before, and immediately following the grid collapse, he communicates with Abbie’s chief of staff to insist that Abbie meet him at Camp Blanding.

Abbie Morgan is in Tallahassee to give a campaign speech. Under the watchful eye of her ever-present protector, Drew Jackson, Abbie addresses a packed crowd at the Donald Tucker Civic Center. Then they are thrust into darkness. Within moments, thirteen thousand people are informed, via text messages and cell phone calls that America has been attacked and the power grid is down.

Drew, Abbie, and some of her entourage attempt to travel several hundred miles east to Camp Blanding, where John Morgan will meet them in his helicopter. First, they have to flee the inner city of Tallahassee, where nearly one hundred thousand people have congregated for the concert and a college football game.

During this night of terror, Drew and Abbie fight their way through looters, marauders, and the throes of Hurricane Danni. Within thirty miles of their destination, they run out of fuel near the small town of Lulu. This small community has been ravaged, not by the hurricane, but by escaped inmates from three of the worst prison facilities in Florida.

Daylight approaches, but the feeder bands of Hurricane Danni continue to obstruct visibility. With a borrowed car from an elderly victim of the inmates’ violence, Drew and Abbie make their way to the rendezvous point. Within fifty yards of the helicopter, and safety, they are overrun by a group of attacking inmates. Drew pushes Abbie to the safety of her father, but he is savagely beaten and left for dead. As Drew reaches toward the helicopter, shouting, Abbie and Morgan leave him behind, much to the devastation of Abbie, who had fallen in love with Drew.

In Boston, Sarge and Julia are having drinks on the rooftop of 100 Beacon, having a deep conversation, when the transformers begin to explode. As the lights go out in waves throughout Boston, they immediately recognize this as a possible grid-down collapse event.

They immediately begin to implement their preparedness plan. First, they secure their perimeter. Next, they establish various means of communications and information gathering.

The first call Sarge makes is to John Morgan, who at the time is traveling to the heliport by private car. Morgan’s orders are clear: gather up the Boston Brahmin and keep them safe. Sarge knows that this is his call to duty. But something else bothers him about the conversation. Morgan’s words weigh heavily on his mind—widespread, long-lasting. For the past seven years, somehow Sarge knew this moment would come. What bothers him is the fact that so did John Morgan.

Sarge successfully gathers up the executive committee of the Boston Brahmin, but it does not go without incident. During his last pickup, Sarge is involved in a high-speed chase, with gunfire, through Chinatown. He unknowingly leads them right to the front door of 100 Beacon.

Steven and Katie are in Washington together, enjoying a few beers and shooting pool at a local hangout near the White House. As the grid collapses, they also recognize the need to get out of the major population center and return to Boston. But for Katie, work calls. She ignores her instructions to report to the Situation Room in the White House. She cannot, however, ignore the phone call from John Morgan with instructions to contact General Mason Sears, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Katie makes a choice to remain with Steven and loyal to her friends.

Katie is prepared for a bug-out scenario, and the two embark on a road trip through the Poconos toward Boston. They quickly learn that bugging out isn’t easy, even when you are armed and prepared. They are attacked near a toll-booth exit and Steven is almost killed. Katie repels their assailants and nurses a badly injured Steven back to health.

But now their car is destroyed. Their gear and communications are lost. They only have their handguns and limited ammunition. They have to enter survival mode in a world without rule of law. Finding a car dealership, they commandeer a Range Rover and begin their trip northward. But another unexpected confrontation occurs.

Within miles of the last encounter, they see a young girl running in fear from a group of men who are chasing her through an industrial park. Steven and Katie give chase and save the girl, leaving four dead bodies in their wake.

At various junctures of their trip, the two meet people familiar with Sarge and his book. Some have tattoos of the Rebellious Flag—five red and four white vertical stripes. Several use the phrase choose freedom as a way of showing solidarity. Steven begins to see that Sarge’s message is resonating throughout the country.

Finally, driving a FedEx delivery truck, the two make their way to Boston and the safety of 100 Beacon only to find it under assault by four Asian men. Steven, who quickly morphs into Nomad, despite his injuries, takes out the four attackers. The only thing standing between them and the top floors of 100 Beacon is a group of frightened residents firing wildly out of the front entrance. Not a problem for Nomad.

At Prescott Peninsula, the detailed preparedness plan implemented by Donald and Susan Quinn is on full display. They had successfully built a state-of-the-art bug-out facility on the old radio observatory site. J.J. and Sabina had grown close over the past several weeks and were officially a couple. Along with the Quinn’s young girls, the four are enjoying a quiet Labor Day weekend away at the Quabbin Reservoir facility.

When the power goes out, the four are enjoying drinks and dinner in front of 1PP. Because of the lack of surrounding, ambient lighting, they don’t realize the grid is down. Once they discover the situation, they begin to implement their preparedness plan.

Their first arrivals come in the form of the Morgan Sikorsky helicopter. Abbie is still upset over the loss of Drew and mourns for several days. As she calms down, Donald introduces Abbie and John Morgan to the sophisticated 1PP facility, which includes a gold and silver vault worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

Brad beefs up security at Prescott Peninsula. After a visit from a representative of Homeland Security, he senses that the President is about to declare martial law. Brad goes rogue and rallies the Mechanics led by Gunny Falcone, Chief Warrant Officer Shore, and First Lieutenant Gibson. They systematically divert assets and like-minded troops to Prescott Peninsula. They are nearly at company strength in gear and numbers.

In the process of building up the military assets at Prescott Peninsula, Brad has to send a platoon to Boston. He gathers up the Boston Brahmin from 100 Beacon to take them safely to 1PP. Sabs, over J.J.’s objection, takes up the slack and joins the security detail at the gated entrance to the Quabbin Reservoir complex. In a confrontation with locals, she is shot.

J.J., with the assistance of Susan and Donald, tries valiantly to save his new love, to no avail. Sadly, Sabs dies on the table, together with his unborn baby, of which he has no knowledge. Susan and Donald wrestle with telling him, but the arrival of the Boston Brahmin and the upcoming address by the President puts the issue off for another day.

On the fifth night following the collapse, the President is set to speak to the nation through whatever means of communications are available. Susan overhears a conversation between two of the Boston Brahmin that leads her to believe there is something nefarious going on. Abbie, who has been having nightmares, finally comes to the realization of what happened the morning they left Drew behind. He was shouting, “He knew, he knew.” What did that mean?

The President addresses the nation, but not with an uplifting message of hope and perseverance. It is divisive, condemning, and declarative. Through executive orders, the President quickly sets up a massive militaristic occupational force called the Citizen Corps. In conjunction with regional FEMA governors, the Citizen Corps will establish local Citizen Corps Councils that will fall under the control of the President and FEMA.

Then the President instructs General Sears to read the Declaration of Martial Law, which suspends the constitution and essentially revokes all freedoms guaranteed to American citizens by the Bill of Rights. Freedom, liberty, and independence are lost.

After General Sears reads the declaration, he receives a phone call from John Morgan. The four words that General Sears hears from John Morgan are plain and simple—yet chilling.

The end begins tomorrow.

BOOK FOUR: FALSE FLAG

Freedom, Liberty, and Independence are lost.

As book four, False Flag opens, Sarge stands atop 100 Beacon alone, reflecting on the President’s Declaration of Martial Law. In just a matter of days, the country was rapidly descending into collapse. He was surprised at how rapidly the President reacted to the events, and the level of governmental overreach contained in the Declaration.

But Sarge’s thoughts were interrupted by a series of massive explosions as the Kendall Station Power Plant malfunctioned. The blasts rocked the city, and caused the collapse of the Longfellow Bridge. The deaths and casualties were numerous.

Julia insisted on helping the injured by volunteering at Massachusetts General Hospital. Unknowingly, she and Sarge assisted with a severely burned patient—Andrew Lau. Later, Katie and Steven discover that Lau is alive.

Prescott Peninsula, and 1PP, was now inhabited by The Boston Brahmin and their wives, the Quinn family, Abbie, and a platoon of Marines dispatched by Brad. J.J. was still distraught over the loss of Sabs, and insisted upon going back to 100 Beacon. News of the Kendall Station explosion gave him an excuse to leave.

As part of the President’s Declaration of Martial Law, the former FEMA regions were re-designated to fall under the purview of the newly created Council of Governors appointed by the President. With the expansion of the Citizen Corps, the President named former Carmen’s Union President, James O’Brien, as the new governor of Region One, which consisted of Massachusetts, and upper New England. His offices were in the FEMA location at 99 High Street overlooking the Boston Harbor.

O’Brien is thrilled at his new appointment, but not out of pride. He is an opportunist. He sees the collapse as an opportunity to enrich himself, and his friends. He also intends to right many perceived social wrongs. He surrounds himself with men willing to work outside the law to achieve this purpose.

The White House assigns for Federal Protective Services Agent, Joe Pearson, to be the liaison between O’Brien and the President. Pearson, who has had heated conversations with Brad on two prior occasions, is prepared to assist O’Brien achieve his goals.

However, for the more nefarious jobs, O’Brien enlists the employment of an old friend, and notorious Union thug, Marion La Rue. La Rue orchestrated the walkout of the union transit workers during the St. Patrick’s Day event last March. The walkout inadvertently led to the death of a black man named Pumpsie Jones, which caused social unrest throughout the city.

Pearson is tasked with training forty-four of O’Brien’s trusted union associates. The first order of business is to raid all of the Massachusetts Guard Armories across the state. Via inside information, The Loyal Nine are aware of the details of the raids, and provide a surprise for O’Brien’s men. Throughout the night, Steven and Katie coordinate ambushes of O’Brien’s men using The Mechanics. They apprehend O’Brien’s men and imprison them at Fort Devens under Brad’s watchful eye.

O’Brien, thinking the men betrayed his trust, looked for an alternative to carry out his plans. He instructs La Rue to arrange a meeting with Joaquin Guzman, head of the El Salvadoran MS-13 gang, and Jarvis Rockwell, a/k/a J-Rock, heads of the unified black gangs in Boston. Their task is a simple one — loot. They are provided assurances that no one under O’Brien’s command will impede them as they enter the wealthiest neighborhoods of Boston and take what they want.

Meanwhile, The Loyal Nine seek out an ally of their own to counteract O’Brien. They meet with John Willis — The White Devil, head of the Asian gangs in Chinatown. A celebrity of sorts, having been interviewed extensively by Rolling Stone magazine, Willis is hesitant to to deal with Sarge, Julia and Steven at first. But an alliance is formed for the purposes of thwarting MS-13 and the black gangs of Dorchester, Mattapan, and Roxbury.

The Loyal Nine also begin to organize their modern day insurgent arm — The Mechanics. Meeting under cover of darkness at the location of the original Liberty Tree, 630 Washington Street, Sarge and Steven rally their trusted militia. Steeped in historic precedent as the predecessors to the Sons of Liberty, The Mechanics are ordinary Bostonians who are answering the call of duty to protect and defend the Constitution and the United States.

At 1PP, Morgan, who is exhibiting signs of stress, grows concerned that the President is ignoring his phone calls. Morgan advises the President that it is time to consider rebuilding the country but he is rebuked by the President, who responds “You’ll make your money now let me finish what I started.” The President is surly and combative, prompting Morgan to contact General Sears suggesting the nation was in a constitutional crisis. He seeks to remove the President from office, but Sears refuses such drastic action as a coup d’état.

Following the shooting death of Sabs at the front gate, the residents of Belchertown, located just west of Prescott Peninsula, became enraged. They insisted their newly appointment Chairman of the Board of Alderman, Ronald Archibald, take action. For Belchertown, supplies are quickly running out and there haven’t been any new provisions from the Federal government in weeks. They are panicking.  Partly out of revenge for the death of their neighbor, but mostly out of need, they concoct a plan to attack the inhabitants of Prescott Peninsula and confiscate their provisions.

O’Brien begins to suspect that Brad is working against him. After a brief period of mistrust (courtesy of Brad) in Agent Pearson, O’Brien enlists Pearson’s support in contacting the White House for reinforcements in the form of a United Nations occupying force. Along with La Rue and Pearson, O’Brien watches as tanks, and artillery, together with thousands of U.N. soldiers roll off the ships lined up in Boston Harbor. “Boys, now I’ve got my army,” he quips.

The Loyal Nine come together at Prescott Peninsula for the first time since the cyber attack. Their first order of business is trade notes on the events which led up to the power outage, and to make a determination of who is responsible. The conclusion becomes obvious — John Morgan.

Without notice to Abbie, Sarge is tasked with confronting Morgan with these facts. While Abbie and Steven watch, Morgan and his godson, Sarge, engage in an epic debate about the use of the cyber attack as a means to reset America from its downward path into economic and social collapse.

As the argument intensifies, Morgan suffers a stroke. J.J. is called in to assist and is successful in savings Morgan’s life. After surviving the ordeal, and contemplating his future, Morgan calls in his trusted friends, Cabot and Lowell. Then Sarge is summoned to Morgan’s bungalow. The conversation went like this:

“Come, sit with me, Henry,” said Morgan, who took a deep breath before continuing. “I promised your father that you would do great things. I promised to be your guardian, your mentor, and protector. For all of these years, I have ushered you through life, keeping a watchful eye over you as if you were my son.”

“Yes, sir, I know,” said Sarge, who was welling up with emotion.

“I am not a dying man, but I am tired. A tired man can do nothing easily, and we still have work to do, Henry.” Morgan attempted to push himself up again, and he was assisted by Sarge.

Morgan continued as he addressed the room. “I thank God that I have done my duty in upholding the ideals and vision of our forefathers. I’ve done all of the business I am capable of doing on this earth.” He turned his attention to Sarge.

“Patriotism is not enough, Henry. I see compassion in you I never had. You recognize that our fellow man must not be forgotten.”

Morgan again looked into the faces of the Boston Brahmin. “I intend to live, my friends. You can’t dispatch me that easily.

“We must finish what we started, but it requires a younger man. It needs a different vision, one capable of looking beyond the creation of wealth, but to the creation of a new nation. My role now is that of teacher—the grand master to the student.” He turned his attention to Sarge and struggled as he reached out to grasp his shoulder.

“It is time for me to step aside. The Boston Brahmin must be led by the next generation of patriots. Henry, I am entrusting you to take the reins and accept your destiny as the new head of the Boston Brahmin.”

BOOK FIVE: THE MECHANICS

How do the weak vanquish the powerful?

Sarge takes the reigns and immediately decides to take the fight to Governor O’Brien and his new friends—the United Nations occupying forces. But first, they face the residents of nearby Belchertown as Ronald Archibald, the appointed Citizen Corps leader of the town, undertakes an ill-fated attempt to assault Prescott Peninsula.

Experience and preparation wins the day as Steven Sargent leads a gun battle on the waters of the Quabbin Reservoir which displays the benefit of planning and superior firepower. Brad’s men are efficient in their ability to defend the shores of Prescott Peninsula and repel the three pronged attack. A valuable prisoner in the form of Archibald’s son, is taken into custody and plays a pivotal role later.

With 1PP once again secured, The Loyal Nine now face the bigger threat posed by the tyrannical O’Brien and the UN peacekeeping force. Sarge is firm in his resolve when he announces to a secret meeting of The Mechanics, “Gentlemen, it’s time to start poking the bear.”

Using resources from Fort Devens, Brad and Steven undertake a two-pronged attack. The first was designed to distract the UN troops, as well as eliminate their superior firepower in the form of two assault helicopters. Brad retrieves Stinger missiles which were supposed to be used for a training exercise and decimates the air power of the UN.

During the attack at the Seaport District, UN troops are called away from their post at the Greater Boston Area Food Bank where Governor O’Brien was hoarding relief supplies for his own benefit. Steven liberates the food and hauls it away to be disbursed throughout the city.

Once again, The Mechanics prove themselves as a force for freedom, but there is still work to be done. Sarge, in his newfound position as head of The Boston Brahmin, begins to learn from the master—John Morgan. Morgan imparts his knowledge and experience upon his godson who learns the extent of The Boston Brahmin’s wealth and power.

Morgan’s intricate planning is paying off for his friends as he reveals to Sarge that The Boston Brahmin now control seventy percent of the gold mining operations in the world. With the collapse of the dollar and the world’s economy, gold, coupled with political influence, will assist Sarge in his endeavors.

In the meantime, sitting Governor Charlie Baker attempts to reconvene the legislature. Men and women from across the state arrive at the Massachusetts State House, including Sarge and a security detail. Shortly into the Governor’s speech, the detail notices something is wrong. They alert Sarge and barely escape as O’Brien and the UN troops storm the State House. Governor Baker and the legislature are taken hostage.

O’Brien proposes a swap. He offers the legislature and State House in exchange for his forty –four men being held prisoner at Fort Devens, which he wants as well. The proposed trade is to take place on November 8, Election Day.

After Sarge’s announced promotion to head of The Boston Brahmin, a festering sibling rivalry began to form between Sarge and Steven. This conflict between the brothers was fueled in part by Steven’s envy, but largely due to the inciting rhetoric of Katie. As Steven took the reins of The Mechanics, he formulated a plan to double-cross Governor O’Brien without Sarge’s knowledge. It was going to be his opportunity to show John Morgan his worth.

On the day of the prisoner exchange, Steven covertly led his team into the State House with the intention of freeing the hostages. Unfortunately, two members of his team had ulterior motives. Isaac Grant and Rory Elkins conspired against Steven and during the mission, the cowardly Elkins stabbed Steven in the back.

Grant is killed, but Elkins slithered away into the bowels of the State House. Sarge reached Steven in time to hold his brother in the midst of a firefight. Fighting for his life, Steven managed to speak with Sarge.

“Steven, I can’t do this without you. Can you hold on?” asked Sarge.

“Fuck me. I can’t feel anything.” He coughed up more blood and grimaced. “It’s karma, you know.”

“What is?” asked Sarge.

“My whole life has been in the shadows. I killed, and they never saw it coming.”

He coughed again and his eyes began to roll back in his head.

“I love you, brother,” said Sarge, ducking as a rapid burst of bullets sailed over his head. “Hold on for me.”

Steven was whispering now. “You know what they say?”

“What’s that?”

“Karma is just a polite way of saying ha-ha, fuck you.”

And Steven slipped into the darkness.

The saga continues in … CHOOSE FREEDOM!

To begin reading Choose Freedom, book six in The Boston Brahmin series, click here:

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Table of Contents

Dedications

Acknowledgements

About the Author, Bobby Akart

ABOUT THE BOSTON BRAHMIN SERIES

Epigraph

Prologue

PART ONE November 2016

Two Weeks Earlier Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

PART TWO December 2016

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

PART THREE January–February 2017

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

PART FOUR March 2017

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

PART FIVE April–May 2017

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Epilogue

Thank you

APPENDIX A THE IMPACT OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

APPENDIX B DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

APPENDIX C CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES

APPENDIX D BILL OF RIGHTS AND AMENDMENTS

Dramatis Personae

Previously in The Boston Brahmin series