Foreign Enemies and Traitors (89 page)

                “Do couriers really wear these things locked to their wrist?”  Boone Vikersun was accustomed to carrying a rifle, not a briefcase.  One end of the foot-long silver chain disappeared into the case, the other was attached to a ratcheting handcuff.  He snapped the cuff onto his left wrist and slipped the key into his right pants pocket.

                “Yeah, they do, sometimes.  But mainly it’s a great visual prop.  It’s the only thing anybody will notice, because of that chain.”  Colonel Spencer looked at his watch.  “Come on, Boone, it’s time.  He’s been in his office for fifteen minutes.  The back exit will be taped open for us.  Once we’re inside, it’s straight up the stairwell to the second floor.  Then it’s only one hallway down to his office.  Ready?  Let’s do it.”

                Boone looked across the front seat at the colonel and said, “You know, you’re burning your bridges today.  They’ll remember you here.  After this, there’s no going back.  This is your Rubicon.  It’s the end of your career, once we walk into that office.  One way or the other.”

                Spencer sighed and leaned his head back against the padded rest.  “I realize that, and I’ve made my peace with it.  But you know what?  I want to be on your side of the Rubicon.  I’ve been on the wrong of it side for too long.”

                “Thanks for saying that, Colonel.  That means a lot, coming from you.  You know, it was getting mighty lonely, being an army of one.”  Boone put on his beret, adjusting it in the SUV’s visor mirror.  The briefcase was upright on his lap so that he could reach over his head.  The beret was black, not green, with a gold oak leaf on its blue flash.  Today he was a major from the 101st Airborne Division, currently assigned to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, delivering Top Secret / Sensitive Compartmented Information directly to General Armstead.  His purported classified information was so hot that he even had a Special Forces colonel escorting him on the post.  Boone shook his head and grimaced at himself in the mirror.  “Impersonating an officer…that’s a new low, even for me.  Theft, desertion and murder—all that I can handle.  But don’t you ever tell a living soul that I impersonated an officer.”

                ****

The door to General Armstead’s outer office was wide open.
  Boone Vikersun and Colonel Spencer walked in and headed directly for the general’s private office.  This inner door was closed.  Colonel Spencer walked up to the appointment secretary’s desk, which was set at ninety degrees to the side of the inner door.  The large outer office also contained several other desks, one of which was occupied by a staff sergeant, who glanced up from his computer screen at the pair of tall Army officers, and then stared at the silver chain connecting Boone’s briefcase to his wrist.

Colonel Spencer addressed the middle-aged female government service secretary tersely, after briefly presenting his outdated Courier Authorization Card.  “We have a classified briefing to present to the general.  The major has been sent directly from the White House.  This briefing is for the general’s eyes only.”

“Is General Armstead expecting you, Colonel…?”  She peered over her reading glasses at his plastic nametag.  “I’m afraid the general is not seeing anyone this afternoon.”

“This briefing concerns the National Command Authority,” said Colonel Spencer, ignoring her protestations.  This was not, strictly speaking, a lie.  It did involve the president’s national command authority, but not in the way that the secretary and the staff sergeant might have understood it.  Spencer nodded to Boone, and he turned and opened the general’s door. 

As they expected, it was not locked.  Generals did not lock their inner office doors, because no one, simply no one, would ever dare to enter that inner sanctum unannounced and uninvited.  It was beyond imagining that anyone would ever barge in on the three-star commanding general of NORTHCOM.  Surely lightning would strike, or the bowels of the earth would open wide.  But precisely because it was unimaginable, it was possible.  This was how Colonel Spencer had explained his plan to Boone when they were brainstorming methods for gaining the general’s undivided attention.  General Armstead’s CSO, XO and CSM all had separate offices along the same hallway, leaving the general’s privacy protected only by the aura of impenetrability and a closed but unlocked door. 

Lieutenant General Armstead’s NORTHCOM headquarters was located deep within a vast Army base.  His office was on the second floor of a fortress-like building teeming with military officers and NCOs.  He was therefore perfectly safe from unwanted intrusion, and in no need of defenses other than those afforded by standard military protocol and tradition.  Boone smiled at the ease with which they penetrated the ramparts surrounding his private inner office.  This was a textbook example of the nimble Special Forces mentality overcoming the straight-leg Army leviathan.

Colonel Spencer closed the door behind them, shutting out the secretary’s feeble call of “You can’t just go in there…”

Armstead’s corner office was large enough for two windows on one side and another on the shorter wall.  As expected, the walls were covered with bookshelves, plaques and photographs.  At a glance, it was evident that the general had come up through the armored-warfare career path.  An American flag hung on a stand in the corner of the room away from the windows.  His wide desk was between the windows on the long wall.

General Armstead seemed disoriented by the sudden intrusion, and looked up from his desk at Colonel Spencer with a glimmer of recognition.  Boone expected the general to be angry at the invasion, but he was oddly unresponsive, appearing distracted.  His face was red and his eyes were bleary.  Had he been indulging in lunchtime cocktails?  Boone couldn’t imagine straight-laced General Lucian Armstead indulging in a liquid lunch.  The intruders stood side by side before his desk, and came to attention.  Boone briefly had the thought that the general appeared as though he was fully expecting the appearance of assassins, and that he was not planning to offer the least resistance.  His appearance and reaction were nothing at all like Boone had expected.

Colonel Spencer said, “General Armstead, please pardon the irregularity of our visit, but we have information that you must see without delay.  There was simply no time for us to go through normal channels.  You’ll understand as soon as you see what we have to show you.”

Boone unlocked his wrist manacle and opened the briefcase, set a laptop on the desk, lifted its screen and turned it around to face the general.  The Predator video and Boone’s photographs were loaded into the machine, ready to play as soon as it powered up.  Lucian Armstead sank back into his chair and watched the ten-minute film with almost no expression.  The two visitors remained standing before his desk.  After the video, the still photographs came on the screen, changing every five seconds. 

The general stared at the screen, and then mumbled, “This is unbelievable.  I was just handed those same pictures, on the sidewalk outside this building, less than one hour ago.”  General Armstead opened the narrow top drawer of his desk, removed a stack of photos, and spread them across his desk like a fan of playing cards.  They were slightly different angles of the same scenes on the computer screen.  “These pictures were sent to me by Lieutenant General Marcus Mirabeau, who is in Corinth, Mississippi, today.  Corinth is directly across from where this massacre happened in Tennessee.  This morning he debriefed a survivor who was at the massacre site, and sent these pictures to me by another courier.”  He looked up at his two visitors, misery and defeat written in his eyes.  “Colonel Spencer, does everybody in the United States Army except me know about this massacre?” 

The colonel said, “No sir, very few people know about it.  I would estimate less than twenty.  But I know how General Mirabeau obtained those photographs.”  Spencer nodded to Boone.  “He took the photographs, sir, Sunday morning.  That’s why he’s here—he’s an eyewitness.”

“What were you doing down in Radford County, Major?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not really an officer.  I’m a master sergeant in the 1st Battalion of the 5th Special Forces Group—or I was.  I’m only wearing this uniform, well, so that we could get into your office to see you.  My real name is Boone Vikersun.  You might say that I was on detached independent duty, General.  Or you might say that I deserted.  I suppose it depends on your perspective about these things.  For the last six months, I’ve been trying to organize resistance cells in West Tennessee—but that all ended on Saturday, with this massacre.”  He swallowed, and paused.  “The only good to come of it was that I was able to take these photographs.  I sent another pair of agents south to Corinth with a second camera, in case I didn’t make it here.  Evidently, my agents had success, and somehow they got the pictures to General Mirabeau.  He must have had the same idea that we did: that you needed to be made aware of this situation.”

“Was one of your ‘agents’ a teenaged girl named Jenny McClure?”

Boone was taken aback.  “Why, yes sir—but how did you know that?”

“You haven’t seen her video deposition?  She gives an overview of the situation, including the massacre.  I just watched it.”

Boone smiled.  “I didn’t know about any other video.  I only knew about the Predator video that you just saw.  General Mirabeau must have filmed her in Corinth this morning.  General, do you know if the baby is still alive?  And what about the boy she was with?”

“They’re both alive and well.  Judging from what I could see and hear on her video, the baby seems to be just fine.”

Boone nodded, still smiling.  “Well, that’s something, anyway.”

“Hope,” said the general.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“The baby’s name is Hope.  That foundling was the sole survivor of the Mannville massacre.  That’s what Jenny McClure called her.  Hope.  She said that, on her video.”

“Yes sir.  I’m glad to hear the baby is all right.  That was very important to us.”

“So, Master Sergeant Vikersun, you killed those Kazak soldiers in the pictures?”

“Yes sir, that I did.”

“And that was you in the stolen ASV, raising hell with the Kazaks and the Nigerians, and cutting a path of death and destruction clear across Tennessee?”

“Yes sir, that was also me.  Along with two others.”

The general stared up at Boone.  “You’re really something, Master Sergeant Vikersun, I must say.  It would seem that you’ve been putting your Special Forces training and experience to good use.”

“I did my best, sir.  But it wasn’t enough to stop this massacre from happening.”

“No…well…what I meant to say…  Master Sergeant, for the last six months you’ve been fighting them, while we’ve been…while I’ve been… this.”  The general gestured about his office.  “While I’ve been doing…  
nothing
.  Worse than nothing: while I’ve been complicit.  While I’ve been a…while I’ve been a
collaborator
.  How did it ever come to this?”  General Armstead stared toward the American flag on its stand, in the opposite corner of his office.

Colonel Spencer said, “We’ve all been collaborators, General, all of us.  Except for Master Sergeant Vikersun, and damned few others.  I think that I could count the soldiers who have been actively resisting on my two hands.  The ones that I know of, anyway.”

“What should I do, Colonel?  What should I do?”

“That’s why we’re here, General.  That’s why we came.  To start, I think you should meet our working group.  It’s only a dozen Special Forces operators at this point, but it’s quite a collection of talent, if I do say so.  We’re still weighing our options, considering various courses of action.  At this point, our most effective weapons would appear to be that Predator video, those pictures, and now, Jenny McClure’s eyewitness testimony.”

Armstead nodded.  “I’ll meet your people.  But I need to tell you something else.  Oh my God, I can hardly believe this is happening!  This is just unbelievable, except, except that
nothing
is unbelievable anymore.  It’s all happened, this…”  He swept his hand above the photographs.  “This all happened.”

General Armstead went silent, so Colonel Spencer said, “Yes sir, it all really happened.  And it happened on our watch.  It happened under our noses.  And it’s being run out of Building 1405, less than a mile from this office.”

The general said nothing, but continued to stare at the flag.  The room was quiet for at least a full minute.  Boone thought that if the general was left alone with a pistol after this meeting, he might use it to fire one shot.  Did the general have a pistol in one of his desk drawers?  Probably. 

Finally, General Armstead cleared his throat and said, “Colonel, I can’t ask you to forgive me or to excuse my inaction.  That’s impossible.  But we may be able to atone.  We may yet be able to rectify this situation.  There is something that I need to tell you both.  I’ll be seeing the president on Thursday.  In person.”

Colonel Spencer replied, “Sir, if you’re thinking of showing him the pictures and the videos, frankly, I don’t think that would be effective.  Sir, the Kazaks are in Tennessee at the direct request of the president himself.  I don’t think he would be receptive to—”  

“I wasn’t thinking about showing him the pictures, Colonel.  I was thinking of something else.  Something…entirely different.  Colonel, have you heard of Operation Buffalo Jump?”  General Armstead stood up from his desk and walked across his office to a tall file cabinet with a combination lock on the top drawer.  He worked the dial, opened the drawer, and removed a two-inch-thick red-and-white binder.  “Gentlemen, Operation Buffalo Jump.”  He returned to his desk and set the binder down.  He remained standing.  The general was as tall as Boone, about four inches over six feet.

“I’ll be at Camp David on Thursday, to meet key allied military leaders and to discuss this operation.  Operation Buffalo Jump is a joint and combined operation with several “allied” militaries.  In short, it’s the invasion of the Northwest, to bring the so-called Free States back under federal control.  Yes, the rebellious provinces shall be subdued and returned to the fold, by force of arms.  The president will be making an appearance at Camp David on Thursday, to instill confidence and provide assurances to our allies.  Except they’re not allies, they’re damned vultures!  They’re here to carve up the remains of the United States, as a partial settlement for our national debts.  The militaries participating are mere proxies for China and certain other nations.  They’ll be granted energy and mineral concessions; at least that’s my take on the situation.  Buffalo Jump is set for early this summer, or whenever the Tennessee situation is wrapped up.  And to think I was considering resigning my commission over this!  But not now.  Not now!  So whatever you have in mind, gentlemen, I’ll hear you out.  But I think we need to focus on Camp David.  That’s where I’ll be on Thursday, and so will the president.”