Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty) (12 page)

      
Nancy Atherton raised her hand again, requesting, "Follow-up, please," as other reporters jiggled around her like fleas.

      
"Ms. Atherton."

      
"When will you regain control, and how many casualties are we willing to take in the process?"

      
"We aren't willing to take any casualties, Ms. Atherton.  But we will minimize deaths by using overwhelming force.  What the Guard didn't have in the North Country was heavy armaments.  When we go back, it will be in full force with air support."

      
"Here, Mr. President.  Here.  Mr. President.  Mr. President."  A cacophony of voices resounded throughout the room.

      
"Ms. Kristen Mallory from TBS News."

      
Kristen shook her head and swayed her blond hair out of her eyes.  She briefly glanced at Steve Morrison before she spoke.  "Why did the Colebrook smugglers use depleted uranium bullets--more commonly called tank-killers--against Pack 220 in the Dixville Massacre, but not one bullet of this type was used against the Guard in New Hampshire or in Vermont?"  She turned to Morrison with a satisfied slither on her lips.

      
Winifred looked down at the pockettop screen searching for an answer.  He could feel his neck warm and suspected his face was reddening.  "Well, you must be referring to the baseless accusations in the Spectator News."  He punched buttons on his computer as though scanning for notes.  "We are uncertain that the bullets you're talking about were used by the smugglers at Dixville--"

      
"Oh yes," shouted Ms. Mallory.  "I have one right here from the massacre site."  She lifted a small wooden box and opened it.  A bullet sat tucked inside the lead-lined container.  She used a pair of tweezers to lift the bullet up for all to see.  "How would a group of backwoods smugglers get hold of such a sophisticated piece of technology?"

      
"It is very likely that New Hampshire smugglers had some sophisticated weaponry at Dixville," stated the President.  "Guards come home on leave; one or more could have worked in requisition.  With all the weapons caches throughout this country, armaments could have been stolen by people from within--small amounts, of course," Clifford tilted his hand toward the reporter who displayed the bullet, "the reason for the limited production of such projectiles."  Winifred scratched his nose and looked directly at the inquiring reporter.  "I'm not sure what you're implying.  Are you suggesting, Ms. Mallory, that the United States Military, under the command of the President of the United States, set up and murdered those boys at Dixville?  And if so, for what reason?"

      
Ms. Mallory stammered, "Well, ah, perhaps it was a mistake--"

      
"Absolutely, Ms. Mallory, and you made it," Winifred continued.  "Journalists have a duty to dig out and report the facts--not to opinionize and then present it as fact."

      
"I was at the site--" Steve Morrison blurted.

      
"This concludes the news conference," said the President, stepping up to the mike, "since there seems to be no further substantive questions."  The President and Cabinet members walked from the Press Room, leaving journalists waving hands and yelling unsolicited questions.

      
Clifford Winifred spoke freely to Paz in the corridor off the Press Room.  "What the hell prompted that Spectator reporter to go up there in the first place?  He could have been shot.  And his accusations only encouraged the Covenant to react." 

      
"I have no idea, sir.  Morrison is different from other reporters," the General concluded.  Paz always told the President what he wanted to hear, meanwhile, he had successfully planted the seed of truth.

      
"Let me in!"  Clifford could hear his Vice President's booming voice beyond the Oval Office door.  "No, I did not have an appointment," Margaret Sorenson opened the door, forcing her way by Chief of Staff Bennett. "Get out of my way."

      
Bennett followed, "Sir, she didn't have an appointment."

      
"That's okay, Luc," he said.  Then he spoke to Sorenson, "I'm sure this is important if you feel you have to intrude."

      
"We need to speak alone," Sorenson insisted.  Bennett closed the door but stayed inside.  "Without him," voiced the Vice President as she rolled her eyes back toward the Chief of Staff.

      
Winifred nodded to Bennett.  Bennett shut the door firmly as he left the room.

      
"I hate that sneaky pervert," Sorenson declared resolutely.  She had always wanted to say that.  The Vice President was fifty-nine years old with dark hair streaked by gray strands.  She displayed a firm and sometimes charming personality; but this wasn't one of those times.  She had served as governor in the state of California for only two terms before Clifford Winifred requested her as his running mate.  He chose her because she was female, which appealed to the progressives, and because she was repulsively conservative, pandering to another constituency.  As an African-American, she helped capture the urban vote.  But California's fifty-four electoral votes were her most appealing quality.  This assured Winifred's election in a very close, three-way race.  In his Inaugural speech, the President vowed to use the talents of the Vice President as an active partner to ease the burden of his office.  After three years, that promise had yet to be realized.  She walked up and stood behind one of two, seventh century rosewood chairs bound in aged leather and studded with hand-forged nails.  She clutched the top of a chair, imbedding her nails into the leather.  "Are we alone?" she asked.

      
The peregrine falcon peered at her from behind its wrought-iron bars.  Like its relatives in the hawk family, the bird's intense vision focused in on one's eyes, searching for fear.  Sorenson never liked the creature and couldn't understand why anyone could appreciate such an aloof animal that projected contempt with every glance.  She felt President Winifred surrounded himself with scheming personalities--individuals as well as animals. 

      
"What's that supposed to mean?" President Winifred replied.

      
"Is this conversation being recorded?" 

      
"I record nothing in this office.  You'll just have to take my word on it, Ms. Sorenson.  This couldn't have been addressed at a Cabinet meeting?"

      
"No.  It couldn't."  She circled the chair and sat down, pausing to look at the front of the desk before turning up to confront the President.  "I need to know what you're doing in the North Country.  What's your intelligence?"

      
"Ms. Sorenson, our only contact up there was made ill by his ex-wife--   And where do you get off needing to know anything?  Just get to the point.  I've got too much to do, to be sitting here listening to this."

      
"I know about Dixville.  And I know about AutoMan.  This crusade you're on in the Northeast has to stop.  The troops are needed in the Amur Valley.  The Russian problem you got us involved in hasn't gone away."

      
"Is this a threat?" Winifred spouted.

      
Sorenson got up and walked to the double doors in back and turned for a final word, "Steve Morrison will have company slinging accusations your way.  The rest of the media can't ignore the Vice President's claim as well.  I think it would start a congressional investigation before the elections.  That wouldn't be good."  Margaret Sorenson knew Winifred would do anything to stay in office.

      
Secretary of Defense Kyle Paz waited for her just down the hall from the Oval Office.  Nearly at attention with his hat tucked under his arm, he waited for the result of her meeting.

      
The narrow corridors of the White House were common places for staff to chat, sometimes jest, but often there were prearranged meetings among supposed passersby.  The halls were a good place to speak of private things, a place without ears.  Kyle strategically positioned himself in a blind spot where surveillance cameras couldn't record their meeting.  If staff passed by, the conversation would shift to small talk.

      
As soon as Vice President Sorenson was close enough Kyle asked,  "Did you record it?"

      
"Yes, but he didn't say anything," Sorenson replied.  "He looked stressed.  I'm certain he'll pull the troops out of the North Country.  They need some downtime up there until we can sort things out."

      
"As I said, I couldn't allow this to go on.  I appreciate your intervention, ma'am,  and I'll keep you briefed--discreetly, of course."  The General abruptly walked in the opposite direction, nodding to staffers approaching him in the hall.

Chapter 8

Max's deer camp, New Hampshire (February 5)

      
"Why do you want to use a laser sight on a rifle to communicate?" asked Helen.  "Doesn't it bother you to have someone aiming at you with a rifle when they want to send a message?"  Chaos had asked Helen to send a note to The Wizard requesting the schematic diagram of their laser device.  The Southerner was preparing line-of-sight communications for their trip to Boston in March.  He intended to use the laser sights on their rifles as a carrier beam.   Helen glanced over to the Rousells with a stern look because they had led the Mountain Boys to Max's deer camp.

      
Chaos had learned about their laser communication system from the eleven new recruits Snake sent from Vermont's Northeast Kingdom.  He thought the system could be used in battlefield communication.  Until now, they had used high frequency whistles to stay in constant contact, but the range was limited.

      
Chaos had brought six men with him on his visit to Max's deer camp.  All of them were armed with a rifle or autopistol.  A heavy fellow, their technician, drew a schematic drawing of the device he thought would work, but he wanted a copy of The Wizard's plan.

      
Butch and Thad sat on the bunk in Max's tiny communication shack.  It was standing room only.  The weaponry of the soldiers mesmerized them.  Three of the rebels had M-30 Strafers, complete with laser sight.  Two others had longer barreled sniper rifles made in Israel: The Masada.

      
The Masada had three scopes: a day scope, a night scope, and a heat scope that were used to find their targets.  A laser directed the projectile to the ruby-red hot point.  Limbs unfolded from the barrel and butt to anchor the weapon securely.  Two buttons controlled stepping motors for final adjustments.  A small, on-board computer with a digital readout embedded in the stock, calibrated wind speed, barometric pressure, temperature, and trajectory; from this data, the computer made minute adjustments to the aim.  The rifle wasn't designed to be held and fired, but could be.  Its firing pin was triggered electronically by push button.  Butch and Thad studied every detail of it--amazed by the size of the bullets on the belts looped over their shoulders.

      
Butch and Thad had often visited the Mountain Boys' campsites.  Butch told his story of the Dixville Massacre to anyone who would listen, gaining new converts with every telling.  In return, the Mountain Boys accepted them as one of theirs.  They taught the boys their ultrasonic whistle signals and even gave them the mouth reeds and ear receivers to hear it with.  The Mountain Boys whistled simple commands and used Morse Code for more complicated instructions.  The Rousells used the whistles to send Tater commands; animals could hear the high pitch tone without a receiver.

      
Chaos had made a seven-mile trip on skis from Crystal Mountain to make the request.  "It's simple, and we already have the laser sights on our rifles.  You see, friendly fire is our worst enemy in our style of fightin'.  Our boys overwhelm a point on the enemy's perimeter and raise hell from within, splitting up into teams and overpowering separate pockets of resistance.  The enemy winds up shooting at themselves in the confusion.  We need to know exactly where our boys are.  The whistles are fine for close communication but we need something secure to send messages longer distances.  I don't know why your people held this laser info so close to the chest.  It's a closed system.  Even if the Feds knew about it, they couldn't intercept it.

      
Chaos noticed the cable slithering from the back of the portable computer that led to the bottom of a closed window.  He shook his head and smiled, "You folks are so clever.  Shootin' a beam all the way to Island Pond.  That's amazin'.  That Wizard's quite a guy.  I'm eager to meet him.  He should be working for NASA or something."

      
"There you go.  It's sent."  Helen couldn't tell him very much about the laser system.  She wasn't sure whether to trust them.  The scene was intimidating, six formidable looking men dressed in white camouflage gear; they all stared down on her.  Chaos seemed pleasant enough; Helen wanted to believe him.  But she knew that Tumult, the man in charge of everything, was a racist, a chauvinist, and a jerk.