The CleanSweep Conspiracy (16 page)

CHAPTER 20

Camp Free Eagle

“I
don’t trust the reports.”

The morning after Claussen got back from Lion’s Head, Angela Vaughn stood in his office, remaining motionless as she watched him pace. He was striding from one side of his office to the other and had his hands clasped at his back. He stared out the window. Eventually, he wheeled around. “I want to see the training camp for myself. Make it happen!”

“Yes, sir.” Vaughn nodded. The meeting was clearly over, so she turned to the door. She was already making plans as she walked back to her office. This would be her fifth phone call on this topic. Her boss wanted to see Camp Free Eagle. She grimaced, wondering how Brunner ever came up with that name.

Angela was uncomfortable around Brunner. He always insisted that she call him “Gustav,” and he tried to ingratiate himself with her. She knew his real first name was Ralph, and she laughed inwardly at his attempt to make himself seem more Germanic. She liked to annoy him by calling him “Gus” and watching him blush in anger.

Her discomfort with Brunner was a reaction to something she didn’t want to admit to herself. Her pride at graduating from the police academy was profound. She remembered standing with the other new officers and shouting as they tossed their caps in the air. She had taken an oath to protect and serve, and had thought her conviction was unshakable. Now she was protecting and serving Charles Claussen and his idea of the way the world should be. Gustav Brunner was the poster boy for exactly how wrong Claussen’s ideas were. She had mortgaged her soul when she accepted Claussen’s offer to head up his security operations. Now she was most of the way down a very slippery ethical slope, and Camp Free Eagle was waiting for her at the bottom.

Back at her desk, she knew it was impossible to delay the unavoidable, so she reached for the phone. After calling the pilot and getting the details of the flight, she placed another call.

“Vaughn here.” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Put me through to Brunner.” Her gruff words should have been enough for immediate action on the other end. She found herself listening to some excuse, which made her wrinkle her nose as if a foul odor were invading her office space. “I don’t give a rat’s
—
” She didn’t finish; she heard the receiver on the other end drop to the desk and the voice of a young man shouting for Major Brunner.

“
Major
Brunner?” She almost laughed at the self
-
appointed rank. When “Major Brunner” came to the phone, she didn’t bother with explanations. “The boss and I will be there in”
—
she glanced at the digital clock in front of her
—
“a little over three hours. Arrange to meet us at the airport.”

She didn’t wait for his response, just disconnected the call without ceremony. She smiled in spite of herself, knowing she had probably sent the “major” into a state of high froth.

Less than an hour after placing the call, Angela was in the limousine with Claussen. He stared out the window and said nothing on the ride to the airport. She assumed he was thinking about his grandfather and didn’t intrude on his grief.

They didn’t have much in the way of luggage with them. The flight to the small airfield nearest Camp Free Eagle wasn’t much more than three hours. They would remain overnight at Brunner’s camp and return to corporate headquarters early the following morning.

Aboard the jet, she pulled the seat belt tight and waved away the copilot’s offer of coffee. Claussen didn’t speak to anyone; he just grunted and gestured to be left alone. The copilot nodded and walked back to the cockpit. Soon enough, the jet was airborne. Claussen was still silent, and Angela settled back in her seat, feeling the caress of the leather as she nodded off, drifting into an uncomfortable sleep.

Her eyes opened wide when she felt the plane shudder. She quickly gathered that the pilot was only banking to make the approach to the small airport. As Angela looked out, she saw the spiked peaks of a snow
-
capped mountain range to the north. It was a dramatic sight and one she usually enjoyed, but today her mind was on more important matters.

“Will he be there to pick us up?” Claussen was looking at her, but she couldn’t read his face.

“Yes, I told him to make sure he was. He’s calling himself
Major
Brunner these days, you know,” she said.

She detected the hint of a smirk on her boss’s face. They both retightened their safety harnesses as the plane lurched through turbulent air, the pilot doing his best to counteract the thermals rising between the mountains as they descended into the valley.

“We will touch down shortly,” the copilot said over the speaker.

The wheels of the plane screeched in protest as the aircraft landed, bounced, bounced again, and finally stayed on the tarmac. The reverse thrusters and brakes brought the jet to a stop at the end of the runway, and the pilot turned the plane and taxied back to a small group of hangars. They stopped next to a ramshackle building that served as a terminal.

Angela was glad to see Brunner standing there, next to a Hummer.

The fool even has small flags fastened to the front fenders,
she observed.

He was standing next to a woman. They were stiff at attention and both trying to look “military” in their camouflage uniforms.

“He’s a jerk, but he’s
my
jerk,” Claussen said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

“Wait, please, until the ramp is completely down, sir,” the pilot said as they stood in the cockpit doorway. “We will be ready to depart at 0800 tomorrow morning.” He took off his cap and tucked it under his left arm.

The door unfolded, and Angela led the way down the steps. She looked at Brunner and half expected him to salute. Instead, he ordered his assistant to grab the luggage and bowed as he opened a rear door for Claussen. The look he shot Angela told her she could open her own door.

She and Claussen occasionally turned to look at each other and share eye rolls as they listened to Brunner’s nonstop monologue on the forty
-
five
-
minute drive to the camp. It was obvious he was nervous and was hoping that a running commentary on the history of the valley and surrounding mountains would cover that fact up.

The woman in the front seat sat with a soldierly posture, her blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She wasn’t expected to speak, but she turned occasionally to look at Brunner with evident admiration. Brunner was an expert driver
—
Vaughn conceded him that
—
easily managing the Hummer as the roads grew more demanding. They left the airfield behind and drove a short distance on a paved road. At an unmarked side road, he turned to the left. This road wasn’t paved, and it led them up to the foothills, the incline of the road increasing until they reached a stand of pines. Soon the road began to curve and twist. When they reached a meadow, it leveled off.

Angela saw the first checkpoint building in the distance. There wasn’t even a sign warning curious drivers to turn back. There was no barrier to stop an outright snoopy driver, but as they approached, two men walked out of the small building. She saw they were armed and looked as if they took their jobs very seriously; she guessed no unauthorized person would have been allowed to drive by.

The guards recognized Brunner, snapped to attention, and saluted as the Hummer raced past and continued on until it reached the edge of a small depression. Brunner steered the vehicle down to a stream and turned sharply to take a road to the right, along its bank. Soon they reached a dense grove of trees that spanned the road like a canopy.

The first sign of the camp was a high, electrified fence. The gate was controlled by a motor and remained closed as Brunner braked to a stop. Two guards came out of a small kiosk; one walked to the driver’s side, the other to the passenger’s side. They didn’t wave Brunner through until they were satisfied.

“I would have their heads if they weren’t thorough,” Brunner said over his shoulder.

The camp was really a collection of five buildings. “That’s headquarters,” Brunner said, pointing to one. “That large one is the mess hall; it doubles as a large meeting room.” He pointed to one farther away. “That houses operations and facilities. We have the capacity to go for a week without power with that bad
-
boy generator. The other buildings are all barracks.”

They came to a large open area filled with men and women, all wearing camouflage uniforms, and all in various stages of training. One group was running in a crouch and shooting at cut
-
out targets in the windows of faux building storefronts that represented an urban street scene.

“That’s some good shooting,” Angela Vaughn said.

Another group was engaged in some form of martial art. One man stood off to the side, she noticed, holding his arm and grimacing in pain.

An unsmiling woman suddenly stepped in front of the Hummer and held up a red flag to stop them. Brunner directed their eyes to the left. A man ran past an open doorway and threw an object into the room beyond. As the man rolled for cover, a strong blast shattered the silence. Flames and smoke spiraled above him.

“Good job
…
” Brunner muttered.

“How many people like this do you have currently?” Claussen asked.

“Sergeant?” Brunner snapped.

“Sir. Five thousand and forty
-
eight, sir!” the young woman next to him replied. “Sir. The others have departed as ordered, sir!”

“We already have another four thousand two hundred trained and waiting back east,” Brunner said. He had stopped the Hummer and looked back at Claussen when he said that.

“How many are trained to do
that
with a grenade? That’s what I was asking.”

“They all are,” Brunner said, grinning at the young sergeant sitting next to him.

Claussen smiled for the first time. Angela saw his broad, beaming smirk and relaxed.

Once settled in the guest quarters, they walked with Brunner to the headquarters building. The blond sergeant walked at Brunner’s side like a trained dog. When they entered the building, several people in uniforms jumped to their feet and stood in rigid attention poses.

Brunner led his guests to another room
—
a conference room. Five men and two women stood at attention, waiting for Claussen to sit at the head of the table.

“Sir,” Brunner looked at Claussen. “I have asked the team leaders to brief you.”

By the time the meeting finished, Angela had heard them each tell Claussen what they were ready to do. Over nine thousand men and women were prepared to infiltrate the city the day before the global summit. Some were already in the city, staying in various locations. Others were on their way.

Brunner and his team outlined their task. “Team Spearhead will start with a bang.” He laughed. Angela didn’t think it was funny. She knew Team Spearhead was going to set off the first bomb in the Distillery District, just as the summit was getting underway. The plan was to cause enough destruction to draw the police and security forces away from the crowds they were assigned to
—
the ones assembled to watch the dignitaries arrive.

“Collateral damage is unavoidable,” Brunner said, but his words carried a tone that implied he didn’t care who got in the way.

He told them that the bombing would be the signal to the others to put the operation into high gear. Key points around the city had been identified as specific targets for exceptional violence and destruction. The Free Eagle operatives would essentially be causing as much confusion and destruction as possible. Brunner also assured his guests that his army of hired thugs was looking forward to smashing skulls and teeth. He grinned as he said it.

Angela didn’t sleep well that night and was feeling cranky the next morning. She was grateful her boss was still not in a talkative mood as they were driven back to the airport. She did notice, however, that he was smiling a lot on the plane back.

• • •

Three days after that visit to Camp Free Eagle, the media reported that tens of thousands were expected to gather in advance of the summit. Spectators would crowd the civic square to get a good view of the dignitaries as they arrived. TV cameras focused on those who were carrying signs, either in protest of the politics of a particular delegate or to cheer their favorite celebrity. The crowd seemed to be in a festive mood, but the police security forces were on high alert. Undercover agents melted into the crowd, ready to sound the alarm if someone looked to be doing something threatening. In spite of all this, though, nobody was prepared for what was about to happen.

The throng’s activities took a darker turn when several of the Free Eagle teams began pushing and shoving. Their job was to stir up resentment while taking care to not incite violence
—
yet.

The crowd surged to the front of the plaza when the first in a convoy of limousines began to arrive. Television cameras and other media services formed phalanxes, swarming around each dignitary.

• • •

Alarm, fear, and terror came uninvited to the summit when 4,327 men and women unleashed murder and mayhem on an unsuspecting city.

“What are those guys doing?” a curious subway passenger asked, turning to a stranger next to her. They stared at some men who were stripping away their outer layers of clothing, revealing military
-
style uniforms featuring Free Eagle Militia insignia.

At the Saint Patrick station, the men jumped up, drawing an assortment of weapons from their belts: police batons, lead pipes, and a formidable array of knives. One reached in his pocket for a set of brass knuckles. He glared at the other passengers.

Shrieking brakes blended with screams next. The rough
-
looking men left the unarmed passengers bleeding and clutching at broken bones. They laughed at an old woman who whimpered in fear as they exited.