Foreign Enemies and Traitors (81 page)

“Mom, what do you mean, ‘vacant room tax’?”

“What?  Oh, it’s new since last year.  A new law.  The property tax appraiser said that I had too many bedrooms for just one person to be living here.  Too many square feet, there’s a formula.  Since I couldn’t pay the vacant room tax, I had to take in boarders, boarders that the state assigned to live here.  That’s what they do now.”

Doug tried to make sense of it.  Vacant room tax?  Boarders?  From El Salvador?  “Do they pay you rent?”

“No, not to me.  That’s why I have boarders.  It’s instead of paying the vacant room tax.  They waived the tax since I’ve taken in refugees.  The state assigned them to live here.  They get to live here for free.  Their son joined that new army, the North American Legion, so they have priority on housing.  Oh Doug, it’s just unbearable!”

“Where are they living?  How many are there?”  Doug was stunned, coming to grips with the unexpected news about their home being subdivided by the state.

“They live upstairs.  I can’t keep track of how many there are; they come and go at all hours.  There’s usually at least seven or eight of them, not counting babies.  I think they’re subletting the rooms upstairs, but I can’t tell who’s who.  It seems like they change practically every week, except for the Sanchorios family.  We all share the kitchen, but I’m too afraid to go in there when they’re around.  I sleep in the sitting room next to the living room, that’s my ‘apartment’ now.  The sitting room and the living room, and the downstairs bathroom, that’s where I live.  I cook on a hot plate, when the electricity is working.  Oh, Douglas, when are you coming home?”

“I can’t now Mom, but I will as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Douglas, they won’t even let me use the upstairs bathroom, so I have to wash in the sink in the first-floor bathroom.  Oh, and the kitchen is ruined, just ruined!  I don’t even
know
what the second floor looks like; they won’t let me come upstairs, but water is dripping through the ceiling and the plaster is falling down.  They drink beer and yell and play their music so loud all night that I can’t sleep.  They park their cars on the lawn, and the grass all died, it’s just dirt now.  The men even
pee
outside!  When I say anything, they just laugh in my face and call me ‘
la brooha blanca
,’ I think that means the white witch.  They laugh at me and say, ‘
su casa es mi casa
.’  They curse at me and throw things at me,
in my own house
!”  Mrs. Dolan began to sob.

“Mom, you should go to the police, this isn’t right!”

“But I
did
go to the authorities, Douglas, I did!  I had a lawyer file complaints.  But Doug, the world is upside down now!  They got a free court-appointed lawyer, and
they
sued
me
for ‘harassment and ethnic discrimination’!  The state was going to charge me with
hate crimes
, and I almost lost the house completely!  Then
I
had to apologize to
them
, in court!  I was never so humiliated in my entire life!  The judge said I was lucky that I had boarders, since I couldn’t pay the vacant room tax.  Lucky, he said I was!  I even had to go to a ‘cultural sensitivity’ class, to get
rehabilitated
!  Rehabilitated!  Oh Doug, what am I going to do?  What am I going to do?”  His mother began sobbing again.

“I don’t know, Mom, I don’t know.  But I’ll come home as soon as I can.  I’ve got some problems with the Army, so it might not be for a while, but I’ll try at least to visit in a couple of weeks.  Hang in there, Mom!  I’ll help you the best that I can, as soon as I can get there.” 

Doug heard a man’s loud voice in the background, and then his mother said quietly, “I’ve got to hang up.  Mr. Sanchorios needs to use the phone now, so I have to go.  Goodbye, Douglas.  I love you, and I’m so happy to know that you’re alive!  Goodbye, Douglas…” 

                                       
         25

Charlie Donelson lived with his Filipina wife,
Bibi,
in a middle-class subdivision near Clarksville.  Eight close friends and colleagues had been invited over on an undisclosed matter of grave importance.  Half had already arrived.  Each had been given a different ten-minute arrival window in order for the meeting to keep a low profile.  They had electrical power in the house tonight, but without working streetlights, the only outside illumination came from the moon.  One man was out front as security, wearing night vision goggles while sitting in a parked car with tinted windows.  The guests parked randomly on different streets, several blocks apart.  As they approached on foot, the security man called the house on a low-powered encrypted radio, using innocuous brevity codes.  The guests walked around to the fenced backyard of the house and entered from the rear, to avoid a constant spectacle at the front door that might have been noticed by a neighbor. 

While they waited for the rest of the invitees to arrive, Sergeant Major Donelson, Chief Warrant Officer 4 Rogan and the others sat in the den, chatting and reminiscing.  Bibi had carried in plates of red rice and pork for those who had not eaten, but otherwise she stayed out of sight.  Rogan had brought over a wooden crate holding twenty oversized bottles of his home-brewed beer.  A fire crackled in the stone hearth of the wood-paneled den.  The television was on in the background, but with the sound off.  Donelson occasionally flipped through the news channels, looking for any mention of events in West Tennessee—in particular, around Radford County or the town of Mannville.  The massacre had occurred on Saturday, he had seen the Predator video on Sunday, and still there had not been a hint of anything going wrong in the state.

Then an outline map of Tennessee appeared on CBA News, with concentric circles like a bull’s-eye drawn over the southwestern part of the state.  The graphic had been frequently used since the earthquakes, when they had conveyed the epicenters and zones of damage.  “Shut up, everybody!  I want to hear this,” said Donelson, unmuting the sound.
 
They were ten minutes into the national news when the anchor said that they were going to “preview a story from the Tennessee recovery effort that will warm your hearts and fill you with hope.”  He explained that an expanded version of the new story was going to be replayed at nine o’clock, as part of an update to their award-winning documentary, “
American Shame
.”

Hugh Rogan said,
“It’s just CBA News, why bother?  They couldn’t tell the truth to save their lives.  They wouldn’t even know how.  The news hasn’t been worth a damn since FOX lost its broadcasting license, and they got rid of talk radio.”  Rogan’s voice was always recognizable because of his lingering New York accent.

“I know, but look, it’s about Tennessee.  We should still pay attention.”

“Charlie, they’ve run that ‘American Shame’ documentary at least ten times.  They’re just whipping up the hatred against white conservatives.  I’ve had enough of that already.  I don’t need to hear it again.  I already know what they’ll say.  ‘Evil white men raped the planet, stomp on kittens and hate their mothers’.”

“This part is new—shut up already!”

****

The half-dozen men sitting and standing in the den
turned toward the television in the corner.  A very pretty brunette reporter was standing in a medical office interviewing a handsome man with a thick mustache and gold-rimmed glasses.  The man was around forty years old, wearing a doctor’s white lab coat, which was open at the front over a camouflage uniform.  A black stethoscope was slung casually around his neck.  In appearance, he could have been Geraldo Rivera’s younger brother.  Large windows behind the two revealed that they were on the ground floor of a low building arranged around a central courtyard.  The plaza was open at the other end; military trucks could be seen driving in and out.  Soldiers wearing camouflage uniforms and blue NAL berets were carrying boxes and equipment from other trucks parked on the side of the street.

The reporter faced the camera holding her microphone and said, “I’m Linda Veneno-Radburn for CBA News, in Bolivar, Tennessee.  Today, the public health clinic and emergency hospital is reopening, one year after the second New Madrid earthquake.  I’m joined today by Dr. Hernan Cortez Arrasando, who has been leading the effort to bring basic health services back to a very hard-hit region of Western Tennessee.”  She turned from the camera to face the doctor.  She was wearing tight black pants, and a cream-colored sweater that accentuated her figure.  Her long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail.

“Thank you, Linda,” he said with a toothy smile.

“Doctor Arrasando, this must be quite an exciting day for you!”  The reporter pronounced the double-R in his last name with an exaggerated Spanish tongue roll, firmly establishing her Latina identity for any viewers who might have wondered.

The doctor had a slight Mexican accent.  “Oh yes, Linda, it’s been a very gratifying experience for all of us, especially today.  Thank you so much for having us on CBA News, so that we can show all of North America the results of our many weeks of hard work.  Beginning today, we’re providing medical services and emergency care to a part of Western Tennessee that was badly affected by the earthquakes.  Most of the people who live in this area haven’t seen a doctor in more than a year!  There is a great deal of need, and we’re anxious to get to work.  Especially for the sake of the children, who are really the innocent victims here.”

“Dr. Arrasando, I understand that you’re not a local, that in fact you’ve come a very long way to help.  I’m told that you’re from Mexico City, and that you have your own successful private practice there.  How did you come to be serving the people of Western Tennessee?”

“Well Linda, in my case, this story goes all the way back to 1985.  I was a young boy living in Mexico City when we were hit by our own very powerful series of earthquakes.  I remember the help that our North American neighbors provided to us in our time of need.  So when the New Madrid earthquakes struck this region last year and I saw all of the terrible devastation and suffering on television, I just knew that I had to do something.  I had to do something to express my gratitude for all of the help we received from the American volunteers back in 1985.  That’s when I learned that the North American Legion was accepting volunteers for their new medical corps.  As soon as I could, I left my practice and accepted a commission in the Legion.  Joining the North American Legion was the best way that I could help the people whose lives were so terribly affected by the earthquakes.  And to be able to serve in a town named for the great liberator Simon Bolivar, well, of course that just makes this experience
so
much more rewarding for me.”

CW4 Rogan stood, pointed at the TV and blurted out, “This is bullshit!  Look at that!  Look at those trees there, see?  Past the trucks, outside that little quad.”

“What?  What are you talking about?” asked one of the men.

“The leaves!  Half of the leaves are still on those trees!  They’re red and yellow, but hell, the leaves have been off the trees in Tennessee for at least a month.  And look: some of those soldiers have their sleeves rolled up!  You ever see Mexicans rolling their sleeves up when it’s this cold out?  So either this bullshit propaganda video was made a long time ago or it was made somewhere else, but it sure as hell wasn’t made in Tennessee today.  No, they’ve had this film in the can, just waiting for the right day to play it.  Either that, or they filmed it in Texas or somewhere else.”

“So CBA News is lying,” said Donelson.  “What else is new?  Are you really surprised?”

“No, I guess not,” said Rogan, dropping back into his chair.  “It’s CBA News.  Maybe I’m still just a little surprised that they’re working with the government to run straight-out bullshit propaganda.  I mean, they have to know that this video is at least a month old, but they’re claiming it was shot just today.  Either that, or they know it wasn’t filmed in Tennessee.  Either way, it’s bullshit.  It’s just a government propaganda infomercial.  Linda Radburn is a real CBA reporter, so CBA is in on the scam.  I mean, this is like the news in Russia or China!  I wonder if CBA found an actor to play the doctor and
they
produced it, or if the government did, and they just got Linda to play along?”

“What’s the difference anymore?” asked CW4 Rogan.  “The corporations that own the TV networks are basically owned by the government, ever since the trillion-dollar bailouts.  Like my grandma used to say, ‘He who pays the piper calls the tune’.”

“Hold it a second, mute the television.”  Donelson pulled a small walkie-talkie out of his shirt pocket, answered it and then turned to Rogan with an update.  “Mark says Ira’s here; he made it.  But he says Ira has two strap hangers with him.  Mark says he stopped them, since he wasn’t expecting to see three guys at once.”

Rogan said, “Aw hell, this is getting out of control!  How can we pull this off and maintain opsec if people are bringing friends?  Who does Ira have with him?”

“Wait a second…”  Donelson whispered into the radio, and listened to the answer.  “Boone Vikersun, and some guy Boone says used to be in Special Forces.  What do you think?”

CW4 Rogan asked, “Charlie, you know Boone Vikersun pretty good, don’t you?  You were both in the 1st Battalion, right?  What do
you
think?”

One of their other guests, a black man in his thirties who had been listening intently, said, “Master Sergeant Boone Vikersun?  The Viking?  I know him
real
good.  He was the ops sergeant in my ODA on our last tour in the sandbox.  Hell yeah, let him in!  Old Boone, he went over the wire last year.  He split, he went AWOL from the Group with an SR-25.  Oh, he’s been in the deep shit, I just know it!  I can’t wait to see that crazy bastard and find out what he’s been up to.  Oh hell yeah, tell Mark to send Boone and his friend around back.”  Despite the cold outside, the black soldier was wearing a tight green Special Forces T-shirt over blue jeans, emphasizing his body-builder’s sculptured physique.