Last Stand: Patriots (Book 2) (14 page)

John entered the command tent to find
Marshall alone inside. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” John said.

Marshall
looked weary, as though the weight of the entire country were resting on his shoulders, a feeling John hoped to never experience again. “What is it?”

“I’ve come to
understand that this camp was thrown together out of necessity, but without knowing how long it will take to overthrow the Chairman and reclaim Oneida, we may need to start making some long-term plans.”

That the camp looked like a hobo town from the
Great Depression wasn’t a big surprise, although it was clear that few people knew how to fix the problem.

Marshall
’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have in mind?”

John told
Marshall about the pot farm he’d discovered and the books on hydroponics.

“I think we can use the information there to begin growing our own food, rather than relying
on captured supplies. It’ll help boost morale as well as the soldiers’ health. You could also make some improvements to your clean water situation. I see a lot of men and women in camp using iodine tablets and bleach to purify water. Some boil it, sure, but I think many see the first two methods as quicker and more convenient. They don’t realize those were really meant as short-term solutions. I noticed some ceramic candle filters in that first truck we inspected. It wouldn’t be too difficult to get a number of fifty-five gallon drums and create a nice, simple filtering system. Besides, it’ll do away with needing to gather stones, sand and charcoal. The improvement in taste will help too.”

C
eramic candle filters were short, cylindrical devices that could be attached to the bottom of a water drum. Pores in the shell were small enough to block bacteria while still allowing water to pass through. The colloidal silver kept bacteria from growing on the shell while the activated carbon inside absorbed dangerous chemicals and impurities.

“I think that can work,”
Marshall said. “Although, God willing, we won’t need this camp for much longer.”

“
I hope you’re right, but what if you do?” John asked him. “I’m just as optimistic as the next man, but a healthy dose of realism never hurt. That’s why I’m also worried about the sleeping conditions. I don’t see why we can’t look at building some simple barracks where people can sleep. We can model them after the Iroquois long houses which slept dozens and kept them warm through the winter months.”

Marshall
let out a raspy laugh. “John, you’ve going Native on us.”

“I use what works,” he replied, ignoring
Marshall’s slight dig. “When it came to survival and living off the land, the Natives sure as heck knew what they were doing. Take crops for example. They used an ingenious technique called the Three Sisters. Corn, beans and squash. Each one complemented the other. Since the beans needed tall poles to grow on, they were planted next to the corn. In turn, the bean roots captured nitrogen helping to enrich the soil for the corn. The squash was then planted between the rows of corn and beans. The shade from their leaves helped the corn’s very shallow roots and kept the ground moist, which in turn favored the growth of the beans. A perfectly circular system.”

“Okay,”
Marshall spat, throwing up his hands in surrender. “I’m sold. All this talk of food is making me hungry. I’ll get someone on it in the next day or two.” His eyes fell to John’s tactical vest and the S&W on his hip. “Moss has the kinda guts most men dream of,” Marshall said. “But there’s one thing he doesn’t have. Something you can’t teach.”

“Experience and wisdom?
” John answered.

Marshall
nodded. “I wanna make you my number two, John.”

“But you won’t,” John said. “And you shouldn’t. I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes. This isn’t about validation or ego for me, although I appreciate your vote of confidence. You know why I’m here.”

“The same reason we’re all here, John. But I respect your position.”

The two men shook hands.

“When this is all over where you gonna go?” Marshall asked him.

“I’m not sure,” John answered. “I wanna say back home to rebuild. I mean, that’s the right answer. It’s just I don’t know where home is anymore.” He drew in a deep, stinging breath and held it for about as long as he could. After letting it go
, he found Marshall standing there, watching him curiously. “What about you?”

“There
’s only one thing I’m aiming to do before I die,” Marshall told him. “Give my wife and son a proper burial.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know they’d passed. When you
mentioned we’d all suffered loss I just assumed they were being held in—”

“And a perfectly normal assumption that would be. The Chairman’s responsible, so we
have common cause there, no need to worry. But Jane and Greg are lying in a pair of unmarked graves on Cedar Ridge. Wasn’t time to give them the burial they deserved. That’ll come later, once we free Oneida from that tyrant.”

“My son’s name is Gregory
too,” John offered and for a reason he couldn’t explain, something as simple as a name made Marshall’s loss seem all the more devastating.

The guard led Diane to a small greasy spoon called Fran’s Diner on the corner of
Main and Church. The sun had already begun to set, dousing the streets in creeping darkness. A flickering light from inside the diner told her someone was inside, waiting for her. After opening the door, the guard ushered her inside. Diane entered, her heart thumping in her neck. Tucked into the brim of her panties was the paper pouch with the crushed Ambien. The knife was wedged into the tall boot on her right foot. The act had made walking a little awkward, but so far she’d managed to avoid drawing suspicion.

For a moment
, Diane wondered whether the restaurant was empty. Then in a corner, sitting at a table with the warm glow of a single candle, she spotted the Chairman. Next to him were two men in dark suits, standing rigid and yet nearly invisible. One of them was black and thick with muscle, the other white and shorter by a full head. It didn’t take her long to determine they were either military in plain clothes or Secret Service. Figuring out which wouldn’t be easy.

“T
here you are,” the Chairman said, rising and setting his napkin on the table.

The suits both stepped forward and intercepted her as she approached, patting her down.

They’re gonna find the drugs or the knife
, she thought with a burst of terror.

“Please, gentlemen,” the Chairman said. “You have to treat a woman wi
th respect, not paw her like a common criminal.” He turned to Diane. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded, unsure if she could bring herself to speak.

“Come,” he said, motioning to the booth. The table was set with fine china and wine glasses.

As she slid into her seat, the men who’d
tried searching her stepped back into the shadows.

“Something to drink?”
the Chairman asked. “It’s so hard to find good wine in this tiny backwater of a town. Washington’s positively brimming with them, but with so much power and corruption concentrated in one place that’s hardly a surprise, is it?”

Diane smiled, her mind going to the paper pouch. “I’d love a drink
, Mr. Chairman,” she told him.

“Please, c
all me Charles.” He opened a hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle of Leoville Barton and filled her glass till it was three-quarters full. He was trying to get her drunk, of course, and she would need to play along until she had an opportunity to do what the resistance had asked of her.

“Such nice plates,” she commented. “Are they antiques?”

“Seventeenth-century Chinese porcelain, donated by the former mayor of Oneida after his imprisonment.”

Or more like stolen,
she thought, but didn’t say.

“You certainly have fine tastes,” Diane said.

His eyes narrowed and held hers for a moment. “I know what I like,” he told her, before breaking away to fill his own glass. Once done, he raised it.

“A toast,” he said. “To new beginnings and second chances.”

When they chimed, she noticed his wrist was bandaged.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” she lied.

“Oh, this? No, not at all. It’s more of a fashion statement.”

He giggled
and Diane joined in, hoping she sounded genuine.

“You’re nervous,” he observed. “I can feel your leg bobbing under the table.”

“Wouldn’t any girl be?” she asked, laying a hand on her knee to keep it from moving. “I mean, you practically own the town.”

The Chairman
grinned the way rich men did when their egos were being stroked. “I wouldn’t say own. I’m running it at the behest of the president. We’re living in dark times, Diane, and I’m not just making a bad pun here. I’m doing my duty as any American would. Someday soon I may be asked to relinquish my position as Chairman and a civilian mayor will once again be elected. At the present, it’s my job to restore order. Not a responsibility I enjoy, but one I’m compelled by my patriotism to fulfill. You see, I don’t like punishing people. At heart, I’m really a lover.”

“
So you’re not a military man then?” she asked, probing for information. She took a sip of wine in an effort to encourage him to do the same. No one liked to drink alone and she wanted him to feel relaxed and maybe soon enough a little drunk.

The Chairman
tilted his glass back and drew in a mouthful of wine, seeming to savor the taste. “You’re attracted to men in the armed forces, are you?”

She nodded. “Who isn’t?
”

“How do you feel about the
Marines?”

“You’ve got my attention
.”

“
Good, because I was a medic with the 1st Battalion 2nd Marines before being honorably discharged and joining the diplomatic corps. I told you I was a lover.”

Diane smiled, trying to hide her concern.
One of the details in the Chairman’s story was setting off alarm bells in her head. The Marines didn’t use the term medic. That was the army. In the Marines, the men and women who provided medical treatment on the battlefield were called Corpsmen.

“Fascinating,” she said. “Where did you grow up?”

The Chairman took another long sip of wine. “A small town outside of Philadelphia. My mother worked fourteen-hour shifts in a factory making children’s bicycles. My father was a butcher and dedicated his entire life to the state.”

“State? You mean
Pennsylvania?”

The Chairman
stammered and ushered the awkward silence away with more wine for both of them. “Yes, he was a patriotic man, but he was from another generation. Back during a time when the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. Now, everyone wants nothing more than fifteen minutes of fame and easy money.”

“So why would the president send a diplomat to run a small town?”

“Ah, a question built on several assumptions.” The Chairman’s words were sticking together in the most subtle way. A clear sign the alcohol was starting to hit him. “First of all, I’m not the only one. The president sent hundreds of men and woman just like me all over the country.” Diane wasn’t understanding and, seeing that, the Chairman paused. “Do you remember Paul Bremer?”

“The head of the provisional government in
Iraq after the war? Of course.”

The Chairman
clapped his hands together. “Paul was a special envoy sent over to lead as Director of the Office for Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance. He was a diplomat, sent as a special envoy.”

“To a
Third World country,” Diane countered. She’d come out of character as the sweet, easy conversationalist she’d been playing and hoped she hadn’t blown her cover.

The Chairman
’s eyes became glassy. “What kind of a country do you think you’re in now, darling? America’s now part of the Third World.”

Diane smiled sheepishly, pretending to be a weak woman who’d been put in her place. She was appealing to the Chairman’s oversized ego
. Her eyes then rose to the Secret Service types standing a few paces behind him.

“Is there any way we can be alone?” she asked, biting her lip.

The Chairman’s gaze shifted between his men and Diane. “Give us a moment, will you?” he told them.

The smaller white one didn’t look so sure.

“Stay in the kitchen if you must, but I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, they turned and shuffled through the swinging door into the diner’s kitchen area. Diane spotted a handful of other figures back there, working by candlelight.

“What’s going on in there?” she asked.

The Chairman
laughed at the foolishness of the question. “How else do you expect to eat?”

The sight of pampering and opulence in a world where so many were struggling to scrape by made her sick, but Diane had to swallow it down and play the part.

Over by the counter, next to an empty cake fridge, was an antique gramophone.

“Oh,
wow,” she said with genuine surprise. When she’d entered the diner, her gaze had been pulled toward the candlelight and she hadn’t noticed the giant horn-shaped device sitting on the counter. “My great-granny used to have one of those. Oh, it’s been years.”

“And months
probably since you heard any music, am I right?”

“You’ve thought of everything
, Charles. Would you play me a song?” she asked, summoning the sweetest voice she could and batting the doe eyes that always seemed to work on John.

The Chairman
grinned, his teeth stained red from the wine. “I thought you’d never ask.” Depositing his napkin on the table, the Chairman rose, then braced himself for a second when the alcohol hit home.

“Someone tell the captain the ship is
bobbing,” he said, letting out giddy laughter.

“Be careful,” Diane said, noting another instance where a supposed Marine forgot the proper terminology. Perhaps this
was why the resistance wanted so badly to get a hold of his presidential papers.

The Chairman
staggered over to the record player and Diane quickly went for the pouch she’d stashed in the brim of her panties. It was no longer there. A hot panic rose up her neck and into her cheeks. It had slid further down and she pushed her fingers deeper to retrieve it. The Chairman was by the gramophone now, winding it up.

“I’ve got just the song.”

Finally she found it and with shaking fingers struggled to pry it open. She heard the needle scratch as the Chairman tried to steady it. Tearing a small hole, Diane reached over and poured the contents into his wine glass as the music started to play. It was from the 1859 opera Faust by Hector Berlioz.
Diane glanced over to find the Chairman glaring back at her. He didn’t seem drunk anymore. Gone too was the warm smile he’d been wearing since she’d arrived. That was when she knew for certain she’d been caught.