False Flag (25 page)

At the time, Massachusetts was plagued with bad harvests and economic depression. The high taxes and enforcement procedures of the federal government threatened farmers across the union with the loss of their farms. A former captain in the Continental Army, Daniel Shays, recruited men from across the state, including many from Belchertown. At first, Shay encouraged his followers to harass local merchants, lawyers, and supporters of the state government. In late 1786, the men of Shay’s Rebellion made an ill-fated attempt to capture the federal arsenal at Springfield. The state militia successfully defended the armory, crushed the rebels in several engagements, and the rebellion was over.

Although Archibald knew Shay’s Rebellion never seriously threatened the stability of the United States, it greatly alarmed politicians throughout the nation. Archibald needed to lead his people on a rebellion of a similar nature. It was a rebellion against an unknown enemy. He had to rely on limited planning, but hope for raw emotion. He needed to prepare them for battle, much like Captain Clark did on the Belchertown common two hundred and thirty years before.

He walked alone across the fading green grass as it became dormant for the winter. The crowd of primarily men gathered around the stage. Some carried their weapons and others held the hands of their wives.
Do they know the risks of rebellion?

“Everyone, please gather around. We need to get started.” The crowd pushed closer to the stage, which had become a permanent fixture in front of the town hall. Once again, as in the eighteenth century, the center of a community’s universe became the town’s common.

“Thank you all for coming this afternoon,” started Archibald. “After the cyber attack, our world became much smaller. There weren’t any more planes to catch or buses to ride or cars to drive to the Hampshire Mall over in Amherst. Except for those few who still have gasoline, our world has become limited to the distance we can travel on foot or by horse or on a bicycle.

“We have always been a close-knit community, and today, the importance of community has never been greater. My friends, the days of driving into your garage and quickly closing the door behind you in order to avoid a conversation with your neighbor are over. Now, you must rely on your neighbor for protection and perhaps to save your life.

“We have rallied as a community and attempted to rely on help from our government to survive. We’ve all come to the realization that help is not coming anytime soon. It’s time to help ourselves!” Archibald raised his voice to a few cheers and shouts of approval.

“One of our own, Jimmy Fulks, who is a neighbor, a friend, and a family man, was gunned down by armed men right over there on Prescott Peninsula.” Of course, Archibald, and only two other men, knew that Jimmy fired the first shot at the woman standing guard at the gate. But he needed to rally his constituents and give them a cause. Creating a martyr out of Jimmy Fulks was the perfect pretense to rally his people to fight. “Doesn’t Jimmy deserve justice?”

“Yeah,” came a chorus of shouts from the crowd. Archibald allowed them to settle before he continued.

“We’re all hungry. We’ve seen the elderly die of starvation and our children suffer from lack of nutrition. I look into your eyes and see the despair that is frankly un-American. This needs to change!” he shouted. “We’ve observed enough about the people on Prescott Peninsula to know that they’re well fed and properly housed. Can we say the same about ourselves or our neighbors?”

“Nooo,” shouted the crowd. He was inspiring them.

“In times like these, it is not fair for some Americans to live high on the hog while others die of starvation. It is not fair for some to have a comfortable roof over their head while the rest of us face the uncertainty of a harsh winter without heat. It is not fair for someone to get away with murdering one of our own!”

Archibald stood back and took in the shouts of encouragement. He glanced back at Pearson, who nodded with approval.

“Are you with me?” he shouted.

“Yes!”

“What I see before me is a whole community coming together in defiance of death. I see men and women who agree that it is time to take what we need to survive. Why should a few have so much when they can help so many?”

The people were cheering now.
They’re ready
.

“You’ve come here as a community. Will you fight as a community to survive?”

“Yes!” they shouted.

He allowed their screams to die down once again. Archibald breathed deeply and exhaled before finishing.

“Tonight and tomorrow, I want you to rest. Spend time with your families. Steady your nerves and ready your mind. The time for planning is over. The time for starving is over! The time to fight for our fair share has come!”

Archibald stood back from the podium and raised his hands, encouraging the crowd to cheer. Now, he was a leader of men.

Chapter 41

Thursday, September 29, 2016

5:30 p.m.

Mount Zion

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

“Come on, it’s gettin’ dark out here,” said Will Allen to his younger brother, M.C.

“No shit, Sherlock, and cold too. Ain’t we got enough already?” replied M.C. as he sloshed through the muck along the shore of the Quabbin Reservoir. He stumbled slightly and got a little too close to his brother, who reacted quickly.

“Be careful, dude. You gotta pay attention with this shit,” Will said as he stood to the side. He decided to follow his brother to the edge of the shore. As they approached the aluminum flat-bottom boat pulled onto the muddy beach, the faint sounds of yelling carried across the serene water of the lake. They both placed their contributions into the boat and went back into the woods for more.

“I know, we do this for a livin’. Well, at least we used to.”

“We’re getting’ paid, Mikey, in the new form of currency,” said Will.

“Yeah, food. BFD. How much we gonna git, you think?” asked M.C. Then he added, “And stop calling me Mikey. You did that in front of that fellow yesterday.”

“Whatever. Listen, we’re gonna get more than them others, and we don’t have to worry about gettin’ our asses shot off Saturday.” Will continued deeper into the woods, using his retractable snare pole as a walking stick.

“I ain’t arguin’ with the gig. I’m just sayin’ we’ve been at it all day. That fella ain’t gonna know how many we got so far. The only folks that’ll know are the ones across the way.” M.C. swung his forty-inch hook over his shoulder to point toward Prescott Peninsula, narrowly missing his brother.

“Dammit, Mikey,” Will shouted. “I’m gonna throw your dumb ass in this hole up here if you don’t straighten up. Now bring that light so I can see.”

“Look there at them babies. I see their eggs too.”

“Shhhh,” cautioned Will as he steadied himself. M.C. shined the light, illuminating the rock outcroppings that made up a den of dozens of timber rattlesnakes. “Look at ‘em all.”

In the spring, Massachusetts Division of Fisheries and Wildlife had relocated hundreds of timber rattlesnakes to this fourteen-hundred-acre island in the middle of the Quabbin Reservoir. The timber rattlers were becoming extinct around the state and the head of the department elected to use the island as a breeding ground to prevent the timber rattler from going extinct. The rattlesnakes were relocated from all of the surrounding states to Mount Zion, much to the dismay of the residents of Belchertown.

During public hearings, the townspeople showed up in droves. The residents pointed out that rattlesnakes could swim and might find their way onto public access lands that were used for fishing and hiking. Others asked valid questions like “when the inevitable happens, and a hiker gets bit by a rattler, who’s responsible?”

The environmental groups who supported the project were represented by the only environmental law attorney in the county—Mr. Ronald Archibald. Archibald conducted his own research. Although he allowed the proceedings to continue without comment because he didn’t want the snakes over there either, he readily supplied the ammunition to gain public approval to his proxies.

Several residents came to his aid. One pointed out that timber rattlers were generally timid and only strike when provoked. Another, a longtime nurse in the community, testified that she had never seen a rattlesnake bite at the local clinic. A third argued humans were a bigger threat to the
harmless
timber rattlesnake than vice versa.

Archibald and the Allen brothers also knew the timber rattlesnake was the most dangerous snake in North America due to its long fangs, impressive size, and high venom yield. Despite their timidity, they would strike if startled. If their bite was not treated within hours, limbs were lost. Within a couple of days, lives were lost as well.

Archibald and Pearson had instructed the Allens to fill a boat with the deadly snakes, which had now multiplied many times over on Mount Zion. They were awaiting orders to make a special delivery—to Prescott Peninsula.

Chapter 42

Thursday, September 29, 2016

5:30 p.m.

Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Donald received the call over the radio that Sarge had arrived at the front gate with the others. Sarge and Steven cautioned against leaving 100 Beacon unoccupied, but after installing several families of the Mechanics in the lower floors, they considered the building well protected.

This was the first gathering of the Loyal Nine together since the cyber attack. Donald, and especially Susan, was distressed over the purpose of the meeting at 1PP, but it was necessary. They gathered for the first time to discuss the potential false-flag events and the ramifications of Morgan’s involvement. They needed to trade notes without emotions getting in the way. Therefore, the initial meeting didn’t include Abbie.

Donald walked into the kitchen, where Susan and Brad were talking with Stella Peabody. The girls were having their dinner of mac and cheese at the kitchen table.

“Stella, would you mind watching these hellions for a little while?” asked Donald.

“Oh my, of course I wouldn’t mind, Donald,” she replied. Stella patted their heads as they continued eating their beloved mac and cheese. Donald thought the girls were oblivious to the
hellions
reference. “They are adorable angels, young man.”

Penny looked up at her dad and smiled.

They hear everything
. “Yes, the adorable hellions, then. Thank you. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Donald looked at Susan and Brad, nodding his head to indicate it was time to meet. He wasn’t sure where Abbie was, which was just as well. He didn’t want to lie to her about where they would be. Not telling her about the meeting was a big enough lie. They jumped into the four-wheeler and headed toward the front gate. When they met Sarge’s OJ-40, they would pull into a quiet place to talk.

As the eight of them greeted one another and exchanged a few pleasantries, Donald nervously picked up some pinecones and tossed them into the woods. This was going to be a difficult conversation, but nothing compared to the one to follow with Abbie and her dad.

“Well, shit, we all know why we’re here,” started Steven. “Let’s get on with it.”

Sarge stepped into the middle of the group and spoke. “J.J., I’ll ask one last time because I know this subject is going to touch a raw nerve with you. Are you sure you wanna be a part of this?”

“I am, guys,” replied J.J., looking at his friends. “I love Sabs and I’ll never forget her. But you guys are my family, as is Abbie. This cloud is hanging over our heads, and we’ll all be better off when it can be dealt with. My feelings toward Morgan may never change, only time will tell. But I won’t let my animosity towards him cloud my judgment, or yours.”

Susan gave J.J. a hug, and Donald patted his friend on the back. J.J. had accepted the loss of Sabs, and now they were a group again.

“Okay, good,” said Sarge, looking at Steven. “Steven and I have known John Morgan all of our lives. He’s our godfather and has been a dad to us since we lost our parents. We’re also grown men and understand the implications of what we think we’ve concluded. Because decisions have to be made, we need to make sure we all understand what we think we’ve observed.”

“I agree, Sarge,” said Donald, who picked up more pinecones to help him with his nerves. “Based upon what I’ve heard from everybody, Katie should go first. Chronologically, it makes sense.”

“Everybody knows my job was to be Mr. Morgan’s mole in the White House,” said Katie. “I certainly doubt I was the only one. His reach into the deepest, darkest closets of Washington politics is the stuff of a Tom Clancy novel. He insisted that I report every piece of information that I learned during my briefings. At times, he told me to withhold intel for several days without explanation.” Katie dusted off a large boulder and sat on it, then continued.

“After Abbie’s computer was hacked, I took it upon myself to learn what happened. Normally, that is a job for the secret service, but Abbie, Steven and I agreed to conduct our own examination. My analysis of Abbie’s laptop crossed paths with my investigation of the cyber attack on the Las Vegas power grid, leading me to Andrew Lau and the Zero Day Gamers.”

“Katie, when you advised Abbie of their involvement, was there any appearance of recollection by Abbie of Lau’s name or the ZDG?”

“None at all,” replied Katie. “I can’t remember whether I ever discussed them with Abbie prior to that one time. She didn’t ask me to hide my findings either.”

“Okay,” said Sarge. He joined Donald in the pinecone-toss game. “As I understand it, you first mentioned this to Mr. Morgan over the telephone, right?”

“Yes,” replied Katie. “But it was not the first time I had discussed the Zero Day Gamers with him. Back in the spring, I briefed him on their activities, and he instructed me to bring him any information on them I could find. So I called him to reveal the hack on Abbie’s computer.”