State of Emergency: Jack Emery 2 (13 page)

“Look.” He scratched his head. “Elena and I were involved with a group that was trying to get the word out, but it’s been decimated. FEMA has rounded up the loved ones of just about every member and flat out killed a bunch of us.

“We tried our best, but FEMA is too entrenched and has too much power. Our only chance is to get active: smarter with how we communicate, stronger in the action we take to resist, faster in how we respond to attempts to shut us down.”

Jane Fulton, head of public affairs at the New York Police Department, held up her hand. “You’re asking us to risk our positions. Our lives. Our loved ones. Who are you to make such a demand of me? I’ve got kids.”

Jack shrugged. “You’re right, I’m no one. I’m not even American. But I don’t like what’s happening, and I also don’t think the President and legislature would either if they knew.
Really
knew.”

“But if we just get the word out, we—”

Jack held up a hand. “No, sorry. Publicity isn’t enough. Leaflets aren’t enough. We need real influencers to start turning the tables. That’s why you’re all here. I need your help to get this country back.”

Elena coughed. “
We
need your help.”

Jack nodded. “The short of it is that there’s a whole lot of shit that’s gone on since FEMA’s watch started. With your help, we’ll find the evidence and get ready to act.”

“Resist.” Elena smiled.

Fulton leaned back in her chair with a shake of her head and her arms crossed. She clearly wasn’t convinced. Jack didn’t know where to go next, until Bill McGhinnist cleared his throat. The room fell silent as he locked his gaze on Fulton. She held it, then flicked a look nervously toward Jack, then looked down at her fingernails. Jack was aware of the molten fury that was about to spew from McGhinnist’s core.

“Jack Emery has done more for this country than any person seated in this room.” McGhinnist’s voice was like rolling thunder. “Even though he’s not a citizen, he took on the greatest threat we’ve seen since the collapse of the Twin Towers.”

Fulton finally nodded. “I don’t mean to cause any—”

McGhinnist smiled. “Good. Because Jack is asking you, asking us, for our help. He’s asking us to join together to resist an authority that is stealing our basic freedoms and imprisoning innocent people. That is not the America I stand for. You might hide in your jobs or under your beds, but none of it is going away. Unless people of influence and power unite to fight this thing, the America we know will ebb away to nothing and we’ll be picked off one by one.”

Jack felt a tingle down his spine at McGhinnist’s words. He held his arms out. “Bill has nailed it. If we don’t stand up, despite the risk, then who will? If we cower, then the average Joe has no chance and no choice.”

“Well I do.” Fulton cut into the end of Jack’s speech, causing everyone to stare at her. “I’m not going to risk everything in my life for a half-baked plan by a journalist playing hero one time too many. Sorry.”

Jack’s heart pounded as Fulton stood and moved towards the door. None of them had been forced to attend, and they were free to go. He sighed as a few of the others stood and followed her out without speaking. He should have expected it, really, but it was still hard to see so many people walk away from what he was trying to achieve.

“Fucking cowards.” McGhinnist’s voice was pure poison. “We’re better without them.”

“Okay, anyone else?” Jack looked at everyone left in turn. “To be clear, I don’t want to do this. None of us does. I’m terrified and you should be too. But they’ve already locked up the one woman in America who I love. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Okay, son.” Thomas’s guffaw cut through the tension in the room like a knife. “Want to get to the point?”

Jack laughed, feeling the pressure on his shoulders ease slightly. He’d hoped to convince some of them, to begin to form a nucleus, and it looked like he had. “I’m asking you all to risk your freedom, if not your life. Once you’re in, there’s no turning back. Who’s in?”

His heart was pounding. He knew that to set up this sort of network across the entire country would be a massive effort. But if he couldn’t achieve it in New York, where many of his most influential friends were, then it would be an impossible task. His heart nearly leaped from his chest when he saw nods up and down the table. He also received a few affirmations and more than a few pledges of support.

He looked over to Elena, who was taking notes on a pad. She looked up and gave him a warm smile. He knew she was still fragile following the arrest of her fiancé, the detention of her friends and the death of colleagues. He wondered where she found the energy reserves to keep going. It was inspiring. He hoped he could mirror her effort and, together, spoil FEMA’s agenda and free their loved ones. Free Celeste.

He turned back to the others. “Okay. You all need to convince others. You all need to be ready to speak out and act strongly when the time is right.”

“Fuckin’ A.” Thomas’s voice boomed. “Try and stop me.”

Jack smiled as cheers rang out down the table. Already they were discussing ideas, ways to resist and people to recruit. Jack looked over at Simon Hickens, nodded and then watched as Hickens stood and started to hand out cell phones up and down the table. Hickens explained the phones and what exactly was safe to do. Nobody seemed opposed to having technology the NSA couldn’t hit.

Jack leaned forward. “Okay, first we build the network. Then, when we’re ready, we act.”

***

Callum winced as the horn from the yellow school bus gave a long blast. The sound reverberated through his skull and gave his already tortured brain hell. He held his shotgun in his left hand as he lifted his right and flipped the bird. That earned him another short honk and a grin from the bus driver, who obviously had no respect for camp guards with a hangover. The convoy kept rolling.

Callum shook his head as the buses drove inside the gates, like they had every hour for the past few days. It was incredible. The hastily engineered dirt and gravel road had been turned mostly to mud and a detail of detainees had to constantly cover the road with more gravel to stop the vehicles from getting bogged. FEMA hadn’t thought of everything when constructing these camps, it seemed.

“Record number of buses today.” Micah Hill scoffed as he walked up next to Callum, his eyes hidden behind Aviators and a toothpick protruding from his lips.

“It’s crazy.” Callum turned to face Hill. “How’s the head after last night?”

“Fine, man.” Hill smiled slightly and looked down at Callum. “Yours?”

“Fuck you.”

Callum ignored Hill’s deep laugh and turned back to the busses. A State Guard trooper positioned at the door of each bus held up a hand and, in unison, the doors on the yellow school buses squealed open. A police officer stepped off each bus, followed by a steady stream of fresh meat for the camp. Men and women, old and young, a broad mix of race and class – all in cuffs and looking terrified.

The process ran like clockwork. The human tide flowed from the buses and was forced into a straight line parallel to their bus. The doors closed, the buses drove off, the new detainees had instructions shouted at them and then were marched toward the camp one group at a time. The design of the fencing forced the groups to walk in single file, with cover provided by the escorts, guard towers and the few State Guard troops not assigned to a group, like Callum and Hill. The process ran smoothly for the first couple of groups, but as the numbers going through the gate grew, there were delays. It had been like this every day, a giant case of administrative constipation as the staff struggled to get all the new inmates inside and processed before the next lot arrived.

Callum frowned. “This group doesn’t even have Guerrilla Radio sympathizers. Not entirely, anyway.”

Hill shrugged. “Whatever, man. FEMA has its panties in a twist about all sorts of people. Why question it?”

Callum sighed as he watched a man the size of a line-backer push past two women who were chatting and waiting patiently for the line to advance. One of the women moved aside willingly, but the other turned around and fronted up to him. It was a comical sight, really, a thin red head blazing anger at a brick of a man who was a foot taller and covered with tattoos. He knew trouble when he saw it.

“Come on.” Callum started to walk toward the disruption, which was barely thirty yards away. Hill followed.

The woman gave the large man a shove to the chest, but without the force required to move him. “Who the fuck do you think you are, asshole? You don’t talk to her like that.”

He laughed. “If they’re going to let women inside with us, you’d better get used to a few unkind words. Or worse. I might protect you, if you keep me warm at night.”

As Callum walked closer, the woman hissed and charged forward. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and she used them as a club to wail on the man’s torso. He was cuffed behind, so couldn’t strike back, but he didn’t seem interested in that anyway. He laughed as she flailed madly – until she hit him in the balls. At that point he roared and threw a kick that put her on her rear, then slumped over in pain.

“Detainees! Enough!” Callum shouted as loudly as he could, just as the woman was regaining her feet. He raised the shotgun and pointed it at the man. “Micah, got the lady?”

“Sure do. Not sure about the lady bit, though.”

Callum snorted and inched toward the man. He really was a beast, even with cuffs on and after a nut shot. He was a big dude with a shaved head and neck tattoos. “Take it easy.”

“What the fuck do you want?” The man spat at Callum’s feet. “I fought for this country, now they’re locking me up on no charge.”

“So did I.” Callum was deadpan. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll take five steps back, slowly, with no sudden moves. You’ll re-join the line. Behind the ladies.”

“Fuck you.” The man clearly didn’t want to budge.

Callum pressed the shotgun into his chest. “Move.”

The man snarled, but took one step backward, then another. He seemed less keen to tangle with a 12-gauge than a woman who’d weigh hardly anything soaking wet. When Callum had him back in the line, under the watchful eye of some other State Guard colleagues, he lowered the shotgun and left the giant with a smile and a wave. Only then did he turn to Hill, who had the woman quiet ten yards away.

“All good, Cal?” Hill asked, as Callum approached. “Can we let little miss back in the queue yet?”

“Why not?” Callum smiled, and turned to the woman. She had an impressive mop of red hair that had been messed up in the scuffle. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay.” She was puffed and clearly still angry. “I don’t understand why I’m being detained on no charge. Or why I was moved from the other camp.”

“That’s not my business. Your safety is. I’d advise you against trying to pick fights with men three times your size.” Callum shrugged. “What was that all about?”

“He pushed past a dozen people, shoved me, shoved her over there.” She gestured toward the other woman. “Then he called us both whores.”

Callum sighed. “Okay. Cool down. And get back in the line.”

She nodded and walked back to her position in the line. Callum doubted she’d be much more of a problem, she’d just been standing up for herself. Like the rest of them, she was here on no charge. He admired her spunk and doubted he’d be willing to go toe to toe with the guy like she had. As she re-joined the line, he exhaled slowly and held the shotgun casually by his side.

“That sure was fun.” Hill laughed. “I thought you’d have to shoot the dickhead.”

“Me too. Not sure one shell would have done the job.”

“Yeah.” Hill laughed and then flicked his chin toward the female detainees. “She’s alright, isn’t she? Her friend is too. Looks like she’s been roughed up a bit. Might be fun.”

Callum frowned but said nothing.

Mariposa closed her eyes and raised her face to the showerhead. The near scalding water felt amazing as it ran over her skin, still black and blue from the beating she’d taken at the hands of her interrogators. It took her mind off her situation and off her son, just for a moment. She was finding it hard to adjust to being away from Juan. She tried not to think about him too much because it just made her cry, but the idea of him living with some random family organized by a social worker terrified her. She reached up and wiped away a tear, then gave a hollow laugh when she realized the water would take care it. She was tired, both physically and mentally.

After a few minutes of just standing there, letting the water soak over her, she looked to her left. Celeste was looking straight at her, concern in her eyes. She’d been Mariposa’s saving grace since helping her in the line outside the camp gates. She’d stood up for the both of them when the tattooed giant had tried to push in. Mariposa would have let him past, but Celeste had confronted him and the guards had intervened. Mariposa wasn’t sure why she had, but she was thankful. Since then, they’d become fast friends. They’d shared meals and gossip as they tried to cling to some amount of normalcy. She smiled at the other woman.

“How’re you holding up?” Celeste reached out and touched her on the shoulder gently, the concern clear in her eyes. “You were a million miles away.”

“I just miss my son.” Mariposa gave a sad smile, feeling self-conscious. She wasn’t the only person missing loved ones. “You worry too much. You know that?”

The concern in Celeste’s eyes was replaced by a frown. “Sorry. Force of habit when I’m locked up. It’s happened all too often lately.”

Mariposa started to say something, then stopped, as a dark look crossed the other woman’s face. The previous night Celeste had shared a fraction of her Chinese prison experience, speaking until she’d ended up in tears. She’d explained that this was a cakewalk in comparison, but it also showed why she was so determined to stand up for herself and for others. She’d no right to ask Celeste to dwell on it further.

“Let’s get dressed and get something to eat.” Mariposa jerked her head towards the benches outside the shower.

Celeste nodded and they both stepped out from under the water. They walked over to their towels and bright orange clothing. Mariposa had just slipped on her underwear when there was a series of fast taps against the tiles. She looked at the door, where a large, black guard was standing in the way. He was smiling like a hyena as he watched the women, his baton beating softly against the wall to draw their attention.

“Detainees!” His smile was replaced by a frown. “Out!”

Mariposa felt a tinge of fear. He was one of the guards who’d intervened to help in the line outside the camp. But her gratitude toward him had been misplaced and the other women had warned her about Micah Hill. They’d warned everyone about him. He liked to catch an eyeful in the shower block. Harmless, apparently, unless you spoke back to him. They’d told her that it was best to just keep your eyes down and ignore it.

She suppressed her revulsion as best she could as she pulled her towel up to cover herself. She looked over at Celeste, who already had her bright orange pants on and made no attempt to cover up, despite wearing nothing else but a bra. Mariposa jerked her head toward the door and they joined the other women in various states of undress shuffling out of the shower room. The guard inspected each of them as they passed.

Mariposa was near the exit when the guard held out his nightstick, blocking the path. She stopped in her tracks and the guard gestured to the wall. His intent was clear. Mariposa dropped her head and stepped to the side. Once she was against the wall the guard dropped his arm and the exit was clear again. Mariposa looked up. Celeste was standing there, free to exit but as still as if she was cemented to the floor.

“Go, Celeste.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I don’t want you in trouble. It’ll be okay. I’m sure.”

Celeste shook her head and stayed rooted in place, with her fists balled at her side. Mariposa was ashamed that, again, she was unable to help as Celeste protected her. She watched, standing helpless against the wall, as the guard took a step forward with his palm facing outward and the baton raised to strike. Celeste gave ground, backed away and found herself against the wall alongside Mariposa.

“You an idiot?” The guard’s voice was laced with menace. “You nearly got your skull caved in the other day and now I’m noticing you again. I don’t like noticing people.”

“Let us walk out of here then.” Celeste’s voice started to waiver. “I’m not after any trouble.
We’re
not after any trouble. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than harass us.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” He patted the baton against his hand hard enough to produce a clapping sound. He took a few steps straight at Mariposa.

She sunk against the wall as the man reached out to touch her face. His hand brushed against her cheek and kept moving upward to her hair. She wanted to fight back, to be worthy of Celeste’s defense of her, but she was frozen with fear. If anything happened to her, if she resisted, she’d be in here longer and there would be far less chance of getting Juan out of state care. She had to take what was coming.

She shrieked as he gripped her hair and pulled her up harshly. She reached up for his hand and screamed again as her towel fell away. “Let me go!”

“I knew I liked you.” He reached out with the nightstick and pressed it firmly into her exposed breast. “We’re going to have some fun.”

Mariposa tried to ease the pain, reaching her tiptoes, but the more she compensated the higher he pulled her. It was excruciating. She clawed at his hands but it was no good. She closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts of everything but Juan. If she complied, it would be over sooner. He kept hold of her hair as he separated her legs roughly and reached up inside of her. She winced at the pain but kept her mouth shut, squeezing her eyes tightly.

She felt his breath against her neck. His mouth was an inch from her ear. “I knew you’d be up for it, once you gave me a chance.”

A whisper escaped her lips. “Please don’t.”

“This is
not
going to happen here, you fuck!” Celeste voice was shrill as she jumped on the guard’s back.

Mariposa cried out in pain as the guard fell to the tiles, yanking her hair on the way down. As she hit the ground beside him, she struck his hands as hard as she could with her fists, trying to break his grip. It was no good. After that, she did her best to push the guard away. She kept her left palm over his face while punching out at every part of him with her right hand. It was pointless. He was twice her size and as strong as an ox.

At some point in the rolling melee he let go, distancing himself from Mariposa and Celeste, who’d been wailing on him from behind. He scampered away on the tiles then stood up, panting and heaving. His hat was on the tiles and he was glistening with sweat. His eyes were menacing and his mouth twisted with rage as he reached down for the nightstick. Celeste was already standing as Mariposa struggled to her feet.

“Stay away from us!” Mariposa didn’t recognize her own voice, hoarse and guttural. “Leave us alone.”

“You can lock us up, but you can’t rape us, you fucking asshole.” Celeste was panting, her sweat-soaked red hair matted over her face.

Mariposa did her best to stay brave as he advanced on her again. Celeste stepped between them. Her fists were at her side but her knuckles were white. The guard smiled darkly. Blood covered his teeth, the legacy of some blow or another. He advanced further and raised the baton. Celeste gave an ear-curdling scream as the baton connected with the side of her knee. She crumpled to the wet tiles.

As if snapped out of her paralysis, Mariposa shuffled forward to help, her heart torn in half as the younger woman shrieked in pain and held her knee. Mariposa placed a hand on her head and stroked her hair. She looked up at the guard, waiting for him to strike her. The blow didn’t come. Whichever emotion had driven him to rape and violence was apparently satiated for now. He took a step back.

“Cock teases, the fucking lot of you.” He shook his head and then spat at them, the fury draining from his eyes. “You’re both in here for a long time. Your life just got harder.”

As the guard turned away, Mariposa cradled Celeste’s head in her lap and watched as blood, tears and the guard’s spittle mixed with the water on the tiles.

***

Jack held his arms out as the Secret Service agent ran a metal detecting wand along his arms, down his torso and his legs. Though the device made an occasional squealing noise, none were apparently large enough to cause any concern. The metal detector completed the trifecta after they’d patted him down and scanned him for bomb residue. He was glad he’d left his Swiss army knife at home.

The agent stepped back and gestured Jack forward. “Follow me, sir. Please stay close and display your tag at all times.”

Jack felt for his temporary security pass, hanging by a lanyard around his neck, and did his best not to be overawed by the West Wing of the White House. While he walked, he reflected on the events that had carried him here. He’d thought he was done with all of this, the politics, the intrigue, the danger. He wanted nothing more than to opt out and wait for it all to blow over, but he had too much skin in the game to do that now.

He’d made a start on leading the resistance: the first cells had been established, resourced and equipped. Hickens had come through with the technology, Cormac Thomas had come through with the dollars, McGhinnist had helped Jack to configure the ever expanding operation in a way that was less likely to be exposed, and everyone had helped with contacts, friends and influencers in government, media, law enforcement, the military – anyone fed up with things. Elena had been the star. She was recruiting all over the place.

The Secret Service stopped and held out his hand towards a sofa. “We’re here.”

Jack nodded. “Okay, thanks. What now?”

The agent smiled. “You sit just over there until the President is ready to see you, then you say ‘Hello, Madam President’ and go from there.”

Jack took a seat and settled in. He knew that it could be a while, and thought again that he shouldn’t even be here. The others had advised against it, but he had to try. He had the celebrity and the credits in the bank to get an audience with a grateful President. He had to know if the belief in what FEMA was doing went all the way to the top. He owed it to everyone he was asking to risk their life to try the direct route. Before he flicked the switch on open rebellion, he needed to be sure that the takeover couldn’t be reversed by negotiation between reasonable people. It was a risk, but one he needed to take. He gently drummed his knuckles on the armrest of the sofa, until the President’s secretary approached and invited him inside the Oval Office.

“Mr Emery.” President Helen Morris stood and rounded her desk to greet him just inside the door. She held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

Jack shook her hand. “Thanks for meeting with me, Madam President.”

“Come and sit.” She smiled as they walked over to the couches.

Jack was a little surprised by the warm reception. “Thanks.”

She sat opposite him, leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “Now, what can I do for you? I was surprised to see you in my diary.”

Even though she’d largely been sidelined by FEMA, Morris was still the President. He needed to make each word count, because he wasn’t likely to get many. “Madam President, I’ve come here to implore you to revoke the executive order granting FEMA extensive control over the country. The consequences have been enormous.”

Morris considered him for a few moments. “Mr Emery, while I respect your impressive career and the help you’ve provided this country, I disagree.”

“But—”

Morris held up a hand, frowning. “We’ve taken the actions necessary to safeguard the country and the measures are working, more or less.”

Jack shook his head. Though he’d considered the chances of changing Morris’s mind to be remote, he’d been entirely unprepared for the strength of her convictions. She seemed confident in the decisions she’d taken and that the response was proportional to the threat. It defied belief. She apparently had no problem with the abuses taking place. Or she didn’t know about them. The leadership of the country had been bubble wrapped by FEMA.

“Madam President. You need to get outside the Oval Office more often. Your country is burning around you.”

Morris laughed softly. Her continued smile didn’t hide the frostiness in her eyes. “Don’t mistake me welcoming you here as an invitation to flippancy, Mr Emery. Let me be clear. Administrator Hall has my complete support. Your past service was exceptional, indeed, exemplary, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack nodded, even though he didn’t agree. The conversation was over. He stood. “Madam President, thank you for your time.”

She nodded, but stayed seated. “I hope you’ll think carefully about your next move. America needs patriots, not more loose cannons.”

Jack nodded and turned to leave the office. He’d tried staying out of the situation, then been dragged in. He’d tried resisting with information, and his friends had suffered. He’d tried to directly question those in power, then been threatened. Deep down, he knew there was only one course of action left open to him, one he was prepared for but loath to commence. He saw no other way.

It was time to go to war.