Uncivil Liberties (39 page)

“Mr. President, I want to get an Army Blackhawk up from Fort Leavenworth, block the interstate in both directions, and take this vehicle out as if it were an enemy troop transport. This is a military enemy, Mr. President. We have ample means to stop them, but we need your approval, or a Troy designation, following which I will issue the authority to fire on the vehicle.”

The president observed Pug for several seconds and then voiced his approval. “Jennie will have your written Troy designation in hand in five minutes. Just wait for it by her desk. And Pug, General Austin trained you well. Such situations permit no equivocation. You’re the right man in the right place.”

“I’ll see to the Army, Mr. President. Thank you, sir.”

John Harford’s office at Strategic Initiatives was busier than usual, with multiple people, including many in uniform, coming and going. It had been like that since Saturday afternoon, after the first episode in Kansas City. By Monday, the bee hive of activity had not settled down.

“Senator Winchester, thank you for coming to see me this afternoon. I know that your Mondays are very busy, but this is highly important. It’s been a terrible weekend for America,” John Harford said, taking a seat next to the senator from Connecticut.

For the past forty-eight hours, every major news station had run the endless, repetitive loop of the Kansas City bombing, and with live coverage, the Fox News helicopter had been on scene about seventy-five miles west of Kansas City on I-70 when the Army Blackhawk helicopter had fired a missile at the black van as it raced along the interstate. Only one occupant had survived and he did not last through the trip to the hospital.

Coverage of the San Antonio intervention was, of course, less dramatic, since only six terrorists and one Strategic Initiatives trooper had been killed. Still, high praise was voiced from all quarters on the successful event, and when SI released the film clip from the Predator drone that had initially spotted the six men outside of San Antonio, preparing their weapons for the attack, the coverage quickly gained ac
claim
and calls were already forthcoming for extension of the pilot program. Two newscasters and the city council in Kansas City had stated that if only such a program had been in place nationwide, the tragedy at Overland Park Mall could have been prevented. Even traditional liberal groups were clamoring for more protection, while conservative groups screamed that had liberals not stood in the way historically, such events could have been prevented long ago. Some hard-core conservatives even went so far as to indicate that although the death toll was horrendous and unacceptable, liberally supported abortion clinics had killed more people in the past few months than the entire attack had killed. There was no meeting of the minds on philosophy.

In the well-appointed confines of Strategic Initiatives, Chairman of the Board and CEO John Harford continued to address his congressional visitor.

“Our small success in San Antonio was completely overshadowed by the brazenness of the terrible events in Kansas City and the senseless deaths. I’m sure you agree. Still, the pilot program for Domestic Tranquility has begun to show its merit and you are certainly aware that the press is lauding our success. And they’re right. Imagine if we’d only had a few Predators flying over Kansas City. How many people might be alive this morning?”

Sensing the fervor behind Harford’s monologue, Winchester readily agreed. “John, you’re absolutely correct. How can I help?”

“How long have you been in Congress, Augustus?”

“Four years in the House and nine in the Senate. Halfway through my second senate term.”

Harford clasped his hands together, steepling his fingers in front of his face, thankful he did not have to raise the specter of past financial contributions in a veiled threat. “Augustus, it’s time for you to leave your mark on Congress. You’ve done some excellent work for our nation, but this bill will be your crowning achievement. Something to be a lasting tribute.”

“And what would that be, John?” Winchester asked.

Harford rose from his seat, walked behind his desk, and picked up a slim, spiral bound document, about thirty pages in all. “This, Senator Winchester, is the Domestic Tranquility Act. It has been prepared by the finest legal minds in the country. Once passed and signed by the president, it will supplant The Patriot Act and will become the guiding force for American domestic security for the next decade. The provisions of this bill will assure that law enforcement officers, military national guard, and even privately contracted security forces, such as those on duty in San Antonio this past weekend, will have the necessary authority and resources to combat these terrorists who dare to invade our country. Think of it, Augustus. With the barest minimum of personal intrusion, certainly nothing to bother the law-abiding citizens of our country, we can enact and oversee the measures to protect our people on a daily basis. Why should Americans be in fear of going to Sears and ending up dead? Why should we be afraid to attend a convention in a five-star hotel and worry about being blown to bits? No, sir! Through the effective representation of Senator Augustus Winchester of Connecticut, once again New England will be at the forefront of defending America. With this bill to your credit—and I can line up two opposition party senators to co-sponsor with you—you will likely represent the people of Connecticut, perhaps even the American people nationally, for years to come. Certainly until you’re ready to hoist a jib and spend the remaining days of your life on your beautiful yacht off the coast of Newport. Are you ready for that challenge, Augustus? Are you ready for immortality?”

Unspoken by the chairman, but not unnoticed by Winchester, was the part Harford had played in his campaign financing over the years, especially the last campaign for the Senate when the Republicans had overplayed their hand with a bright, young lieutenant governor whom they had run against him. All in all, Harford had contributed nearly six million dollars to Augustus Winchester in his congressional campaigns. Failing to respond to Harford’s direct appeal was suicidal, politically and financially speaking, since he would surely switch his financial alliance to someone more malleable.

“Of course, as I said, you won’t be alone in this campaign, Augustus. Every congressman or congresswoman I have ever helped to finance, every senator, and every lobbyist who has ever worked for me will get behind this bill completely. Even the normally liberal media will be in support if we play our cards right. It will be a full court press, Augustus. Domestic Tranquility will become the law of the land within sixty days if I have anything to say about it, and I
do
have something to say about it. Are you ready to lead the charge, Senator Winchester?”

“Do you have the necessary votes on Senator Culpepper’s
committee
to get the bill on the floor for a vote?” Winchester asked.

“Leave that to me. With the narrow escape Senator McKenzie had on Saturday, I would think she would be leading your supporters to recommend a full Senate vote immediately.”

“John,” Winchester said as he rose from his seat, “the Founding Fathers had it right. I think it’s time that we restored domestic tranquility in America, don’t you?”

“Now you’re talking, Senator. Now you’re talking.”

As Senator Winchester left, Harford sat behind his desk for several minutes until his secretary buzzed his intercom.

“Sir, Mr. Hegarty has arrived, and security called to advise that a Mr. Campbell is downstairs, obtaining clearance to enter the building.”

“Fine. Confirm to security that Campbell may enter, and when he arrives, send both men in.”

Harford stood behind his desk and gazed out the window toward Capital Mall. The two men coming to his office had never met. In fact, Harford had never met Campbell either, but before his disappearance several weeks earlier, Jean Wolff had praised his ability to, how did he put it,
“do what was necessary without remorse.”
  Putting these two men together would complete the liaison between the east and west coast efforts to foment the plan. And if Devlin could find a way to get Wolff out of federal custody, he would be the right man to deal with the western militia units.

Before his untimely death last year, John Henry Franklin had possessed the election resources and Harford had the political connections to make everything work. Or so he had thought. Franklin was gone now, as was the phony election process, but adaptation was a hallmark of Strategic Initiatives, and SI
was
John Harford.

A small knock on his door broke his reverie, and as his secretary opened the door, both men came into the spacious office.

“Gentlemen, welcome,” Harford said, stepping forward into the room to greet them. “Thank you, Laurie. No calls, please. And let Captain Jenkins know his guests will be at the marina in about forty-five minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, closing the door behind her.

Campbell stood just under six feet, was casually dressed in slacks and an open-necked shirt, and sported a full beard, with a thick head of unruly hair.

“Mr. Campbell, I’ve not had the pleasure,” Harford said, extending his hand, “but Jean Wolff had nothing but praise for your dedication to America. I’m pleased to meet you. And Devlin,” he said, turning toward the slightly older man, “good to see you again. Dev, this is Angus Campbell, commander of the burgeoning American Brigade Command, a western patriot movement. Mr. Campbell, allow me to introduce Devlin Hegarty. Devlin is director of field operations for Strategic Initiatives. Please, take a seat.”

Both men took seats in plush, chocolate-brown leather chairs in front of the burnished oak desk and Harford returned to his swivel chair. With a full view of the United States Capitol Building in the background, the office was designed to exude power and project an inference of access to U.S. government officials, sufficient to make visiting foreign dignitaries sign on the dotted line to obtain SI services.

“Now, let’s get the show on the road. No time for pleasantries. Mr. Campbell, are you geared up for the western campaign? Subordinate unit resources in place, the Brigade ready to act?”

Campbell glanced briefly at Hegarty, who had maintained a stoic expression and, thus far, had not said a word. Looking back at Harford, Campbell nodded slightly, but seemed hesitant to speak openly.

“Mr. Campbell, have no concerns about security of information in this office. Mr. Hegarty is aware of the overall scope of the plan. The takedown of the terrorists in San Antonio was his operational plan and has proven to U.S. government officials that SI can deliver. We need your group to further our aims out west. So, again I ask, is the Brigade ready to find and kill these terrorists and protect our nation?”

“We are, Mr. Harford. We don’t have the equipment or resources at our disposal that SI offers, but we have the manpower and zeal necessary to get the job done.”

“That’s all we ask. Mr. Hegarty will provide everything else you need. Your Brigade is critical out west. We both know what will happen if law enforcement catches these guys. They’ll spend decades costing us fifty grand a year, then another few million to provide them lawyers and color television. Your brand of justice will see that never happens. And not underserved, I might add.”

“As I said, we’ll get the job done.”

“Excellent. Now Devlin, I’ve arranged for you and Mr. Campbell to have a lunch cruise on the Potomac to discuss our mutual objectives. You’ll have total privacy out on the water. Mr. Campbell understands his role in the
western
theater of operations. You can fill him in on the rest.”

Harford stood up, smiling as he did so. “I trust you gentlemen will find ample amenities on the
Rosewood
. Just let Captain Jenkins know if you need anything further,” he said. “Oh, Mr. Campbell, give me a private moment with Devlin before he leaves. You can wait momentarily in the foyer. Nice to have met you.”

Campbell stepped out of the office and Harford waited just a moment as the door closed. “Dev, remember the limitations of Campbell’s role. He has to believe that SI is chasing these terrorists and that’s all. He can bring a lot of manpower to bear, but more importantly, these guys will do most anything we ask of them. Their involvement will serve to further inflame law enforcement and our military, so convince him how he can be of service. I don’t expect you’ll get any resistance to a suggestion that he find and kill these roving shooters. If he kills a few innocent, non-European people along the way, so much the better for our needs.”

“I understand, John. I’ll handle it.”

“And one more thing, Dev,” Harford continued, “when you sort things out with Campbell, it’s becoming forest fire season in the northwest. Direct one of your rover teams to a forested area in Montana with orders to start a fire. But after you do, give Campbell a heads up intelligence briefing about where to locate and ambush them. Tell him to make a public example of them. Display the bodies so law enforcement will find them. But at the same time, direct a half-dozen or more of your teams to start forest fires throughout the northwest, of their own choosing. Don’t tell Campbell about them.”

“Consider it done, John.”