Uncivil Liberties (16 page)

“They’re lovely,” Nicole replied. “We never had flowers so early in Connecticut. That’s one reason I love California. Did you have much to do with your grandmother?” she asked. “I know you and your grandfather were very close, but how old were you when Ellen died?”

“Late teens. Yeah, Grandma and I often just strolled through the orchard in the evenings.” Dan chuckled a bit as they walked, a quick memory flashing through his mind.

“What?” Nicole said.

“I was just remembering. When I was younger, I’d often spend the weekend here in the valley with Jack and Grandma. I’d go out in the orchard with Jack before twilight. We couldn’t pass two almond trees before Jack would say,
‘pick up that bit of brush, would you, and toss it on the pile over there.’
We could never just ‘take a walk.’ There was always something that needed to be done in the orchard. But with Grandma, we would walk, talk, often sing a song together, and she’d teach me about the squirrels and various birds that fluttered through the grove. As the sun would begin to set, we’d often see a few deer come down from the hills to forage through the trees, looking for immature almonds or tender, low-hanging branches. I really loved Grandma.”

As they walked, Nicole stepped a bit closer to Dan, slipping her arm in the crook of his elbow. “And Jack,” she said.

Dan stopped walking, considered her comment, then turned and kissed her on the cheek. “Yes, and Jack.” He looked up at the massive oak trees that bordered the cemetery, the afternoon wind rustling through their leaves. “This is where the voices in my blood live,” he said softly. The previous year, Dan had achieved publication of his first novel, a fictional family saga of his ancestors who lived in America for twelve generations and settled this part of California five generations earlier. He had named the novel “
Voices in My Blood
” after the feelings he had for those ancestors.

They walked a bit further and Dan stopped to pick a few weeds from his Uncle James’ plot, bending down and brushing dirt off the engraving. “I never really knew Uncle James. He was my mother’s younger brother, but he died early. As you can see from the dates, he was barely thirty.”

Dan rose, brushed some dirt and grass off his knees, and headed for the car. “Let’s get moving up the valley. I suppose you’re anxious to see the progress on our new home,” he said.

As they walked toward the vehicle
,
they were silent until Dan exited the cemetery and headed northwest toward Highway 16 a few miles up the side road. This time Nicole started to laugh softly.

“Okay, share the humor,” Dan said.

“I was just thinking about this new house we’re building. Is our address going to be 224 Pioneer Drive, Rumsey, California? Or 224 Pioneer Drive, Rumsey,
North
California? Or maybe 224 Pioneer Drive, Rumsey, North California,
Republic of Western America
? Or just, 224 Pioneer Drive,
Anytown
,
Anywhere
?”

Dan looked at her as he pulled on to the main highway, a broad grin crossing his face.

“How about Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings, Pioneer Lane, Tent City, West Coast? There wasn’t much more than that when my great-great-grandfather first drove up this canyon in his Conestoga.”

Nicole shook her head. “Nope, I want running water.
Hot
running water. And besides, anyone who hopes to be the governor of a new state shouldn’t live in a tent. A log cabin, maybe, but not a tent.”

California Governor Walter Dewhirst won the honors on the first hole with a flip of his tee. As he addressed the ball, Lieutenant General Robert Del Valle stood quietly off to one side, waiting his turn. Their wives, who were playing as partners in the Sunday morning match play against the men, sat in their golf cart, waiting to drive forward to the ladies’ tees.

Despite having received no formal communication, Dewhirst knew what was coming. Del Valle was finally going to resign his position as Adjutant General for the State of California, as well as his position as Commander, California National Guard. He’d been increasingly distraught at the direction of the secession. The collective failure of the military and the California legislature to stop the movement had brought him to the end of his patience. Truth be known, Governor Dewhirst felt the same way, but had decided to serve out his term—another twenty-one months—and be the last governor of the state of California before it became an independent nation.

Del Valle’s turn came and he pushed his drive, coming to rest a few paces off the fairway some twenty yards behind Dewhirst’s ball. The two carts drove forward about thirty yards, and the ladies stepped on to their tee while the men remained seated.

“Monday morning sound about right, with an effective date of July 1
^st
?” Governor Dewhirst said.

Del Valle stared quietly at his partner, a man with whom he’d been playing golf for most of the past ten years. “I’d swear you’re clairvoyant, Walt.”

Dewhirst laughed, then quickly went silent as his wife shot him a disapproving look. Her partner, Jean Del Valle, was addressing her ball, and she was a stickler for the etiquette of golf. She sent a nice drive down the fairway about one eighty, and the ladies walked back toward their cart. Dewhirst drove forward toward the resting place of his wife’s drive, resuming his humorous chuckle.

“I’m not so much clairvoyant, Bob, as you are transparent. You wear your feelings on your sleeve, at least as they pertain to the secession.”

“You’re right, as usual. In the modern-day, California vernacular, it
sucks
, Walt. It just plain
sucks
.”

Again, Dewhirst started to laugh. “You’ve begun to make the transition to civilian life already. When you finally get frustrated enough, you can start saying, ‘
whatever,’
and fit right in. But you’re right. It does suck. The whole damn thing has gotten to this point on a fraudulent basis, yet here we are. Have you decided what you’re going to do?” As Jean Del Valle prepared to hit her second shot, Dewhirst parked some distance away so they could continue to whisper. “Or are you really going to retire?”

“Confidential, right?” Del Valle asked.

“Of course, Bob.”

“I’ve accepted appointment as the chief executive officer of The Montclair Advocacy.”

Dewhirst’s eyes grew larger and he nodded his head. “Very prestigious appointment, Bob, and no better man for the job. Heading the nation’s premier conservative think tank is an outstanding opportunity. They’ve already come out against the secession, no matter how far down the pike the political process. Do you think Montclair can turn it around?”

“I don’t know, Walt, I truly don’t,” he said as they started forward again, pausing as Jean Del Valle took her second shot. “But we’re damn sure going to lobby against it. The Board was adamant when they offered the appointment that they did not want to surrender to the
‘ragged mob,
’ as they called it.”

 “Isn’t Dan Rawlings using Montclair Advocacy as his consulting firm for preparation of the constitutional document?”

Del Valle nodded as Walter Dewhirst drove toward his partner’s ball. “He is. In fact, he’s contracted with Montclair to meet with his larger, multi-state group in Mexico next month to discuss the bigger picture. He doesn’t  know I’m going to be there to  try to dissuade them from pursuing the idea.”

“I read in your monthly National Guard newsletter that you promoted him to major earlier this month.”

Del Valle nodded acknowledgement, stepping out of the cart and choosing his seven iron. “He’s gotten on the bandwagon for secession for some foolhardy reason, but I had to recognize his contribution to the whole Shasta Brigade and election fiasco. General Connor advised me that the president—Prescott, actually—suggested  he receive some commendation, so we gave him a Bronze Star and a promotion to major.”

“It’s not undeserved, Bob,” Dewhirst said.

Del Valle looked toward the first green, sized up his shot, and hit the ball about five feet onto the front surface of the green, leaving a forty-foot, two putt for par. He replaced his club and stepped back into the cart. “You’re right, Walt. Rawlings is a good and  capable man, but I just can’t get my head around why he’s shifted his political positioning on this issue.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Walter Dewhirst said as they drove toward his tee shot, “depending on where they set the minimum age for governor in the new constitution, Daniel Rawlings may damn well be my replacement as governor of California, whatever the state is called at that time.”

Del Valle was quiet for several long moments as the governor took his approach shot, placing it inside all three balls that were on or just off the putting surface, then driving toward the cart path which circled the elevated green. Then, as they retrieved their putters, he commented again.

“If it has to happen, he’s probably a good man for the job, Walt. He doesn’t have your experience or flair for compromise solutions that satisfies all parties, but I have to admit, Major Rawlings is a good officer, and now he has an equally good woman as his wife. Nicole Rawlings is a capable force in her own right. A man can go far with such a woman at his side.”

“Shhh,” Dewhirst whispered, “don’t let the women hear you say that, or we’ll be on the hook for another Mediterranean cruise.”

Brigadier Sir Colin McIntyre, military attaché to the British Embassy in Washington, sat on the far side of the long, oval table, accompanied by Major Trevor Hampton, Executive Officer of the British Special Air Service 22
^nd
Regiment, Lieutenant Colonel Harold Armstrong, commanding officer of the Australian SAS Regiment, and Captain Cameron Rossiter, commanding officer of OAT, the Offshore Assault Team, part of Australia’s SAS counter-terrorism effort.

On the near side sat General Pádraig Connor in his capacity as Director of the Office of Information and Public Relations, Department of Homeland Security, known to the men around the table as Trojan. To his right sat Carlos Castro, his Deputy Director and recently retired Sergeant Major, United States Marine Corps. Other participants included Clark Webb, FBI counterterrorism liaison, and John Blanchard, CIA. They had been joined by Theodore Cannidy, the president’s newly appointed National Security Advisor, who had served President Steadman as Secretary of Defense.

At the far end of the table sat William Austin, newly confirmed as Secretary, Department of Homeland Security. Following his meeting with President Snow several weeks earlier, Austin was quickly confirmed by the United States Senate to his new cabinet post in the unprecedented time of nine days. General Austin chaired the meeting. Standing at the opposite end of the table in front of the projection screen stood Lars Johansson, a member of Homeland Security’s domestic threat analysis directorate.

“Gentleman, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Secretary Austin said. “With respect to our joint international terrorist efforts, the past few days have forced us to consider a complete revision of our thinking as regards what level of threat was posed against us. The information obtained by General Connor, Mr. Castro, and Captain Rossiter from their exploits in the South Pacific have stirred the proverbial hornet’s nest, to say the least. When our friend, Mr. Wolff, arrived at the Thomson Correction Facility, he was greeted with the usual procedure and isolated from all outside contact. From the filmed interview we have just seen, both the short clip from the yacht and his initial interrogation at Thomson, you can see that he was not cooperative, even though he was threatened with placement into the general population, which he was told included a group of Middle Eastern captives. He will remain at Thomson until the Department of Justice determines how to handle his case. In the present environment of terrorist judicial rights, I’m afraid he might go free. We actually have no evidence of any specific crime to which we can tie Mr. Wolff.”

“I don’t concur. We have the testimony of those involved in the California secession movement and the Shasta Brigade attacks. Mr. Secretary,” Pug said, turning to look at Austin, “there are several witnesses and some testimony that has implicated Wolff.”

“Most of those principals are dead or easily impeachable,” Austin replied. He looked down the table at Carlos. “Mr. Castro, I concur that you made the correct decision to bring him out, rather than the alternative, despite the fact that he might be set free. But I’m curious. Why did you make that decision?”

Carlos considered his response for a few seconds, then nodded and replied. “Mr. Secretary, General Connor left that determination to my discretion. Earlier in the evening, prior to my entry, the lookout team had observed two Indonesian or Filipino men who were present in his quarters. They had been identified by Australian SAS as part of a terrorist assault three months earlier, resulting in Australian deaths.  After eliminating those terrorists and subduing Mr. Wolff, my initial questioning, under sedation, indicated to me that he was preparing an upcoming operation, perhaps involving the Filipino group. Then, upon observing the written notes in his possession—notes I could not fully comprehend, since they were in French—I was able to decipher enough to feel that he would have information of additional importance which I did not have the time to extract. NSA has since removed and translated all the relevant information from his laptop.”