Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (46 page)

Her trek to Carbondale was uneventful. Once she arrived, she played with the idea to take back roads around the once large, bustling, college community, but if she did that, she might miss something. Her motorcycle, now stopped, made a soft and soothing humming sound. She was glad she had acquired herself a Harley Davidson. The parts would be more easily attained, since they were made in America, but how many Harley parts would she find lying around if she needed them? She didn’t think that far ahead. The bike was loud and that was a problem in large domesticated areas.

With both legs straddling her bike, she strolled along as quietly as she could. The way to keep a Harley quiet was to take it nice and slow. She drove softly along Route 13 east and saw a few people along the way. Most of them were looking from windows, and others were groups of men and women wearing colors that promoted their gang affiliation. They would look at her and watch her ride along, but everybody seemed to be allergic to the highway. They were avoiding it at all costs. The UN didn’t sweep through side roads and, in fact, avoided them at all costs. They liked to control the main highways and interstates. So when people saw her on the highway, they did not give chase. This was the rule, the exception was the area around the University Mall. It had been seized by a large group of people that had not only taken control of the mall, but also the shopping centers across the highway.

When Tori’s bike came riding into the area, she saw them gathering outside on either side of the highway. They were still several yards from the roadway, but appeared to be a menacing group. Of the weapons she saw them carrying, they had shovels, axes, baseball bats, machetes, and guns. She tried not to panic, but the adrenaline rush flushed her ears and she felt the flow of blood in her veins as it pumped through her face. She maintained her composure and kept a slow steady pace as she moved along.

One person in particular was ahead of the others and moving in her direction. He had a radio strapped to his back with an enormous antenna that stretched towards the heavens. He was the only person heading in her direction. Working against her own instinct, she stopped the bike and waited for the man to arrive.

Overhead, the FLIES drone was maintaining constant surveillance. It hovered silently, monitoring Tori’s every move.

Springfield, Illinois

The junior sergeant was eager to contact Captain Zacharov so that he could inform him that Tori had made her way to the site of the UN attack on Murphysboro. He picked up the SATCOM phone and communicated to Zacharov’s secretary that Tori Cunningham had found clues on the whereabouts of the SIHG extremist group. Within moments, he received a SATCOM notice from Zacharov’s office. “Keep tailing Tori and keep our forces out of her way.”

What the young junior sergeant wanted to tell Zacharov next was that the FLIES drone was barely keeping up with the speed of the motorcycle Tori had acquired. The drones were built for maintaining a human-paced run, not the speeds that automobiles can attain. If not for the lock the FLIES drone had on the signal being emitted from her RFID chip, she would have been lost again.

Captain Alexander Zacharov was in a separate building, apart from the soldiers that were busy securing the streets around the capital, and those working for General Abdul Muhaimin. He didn’t know where the Southern Illinois Home Guard was located, but was busy dispatching E-Tech to suspected areas.

There was a suspected SIHG attack on the UN base in Marion, but the nearest FLIES drone was still hours from that location. Captain Zacharov cursed in Russian, then said in his Russian accent, “How are we supposed to maintain surveillance on these extremist groups if we can’t find them?”

Zacharov’s secretary was a male junior sergeant, not unlike the one monitoring Tori. With the Chinese technology that had recently reached the shores of America came Chinese instructors learned in the ways of spy programs. They had instructed many Russian Army office associates on surveillance using the drones. They had since left America and their Russian counterparts, and returned home. This frustrated Captain Zacharov. He had sent continuous requests to liaison logistic coordinators for better E-Tech or a way to optimize the signal-receiving capabilities of the drones. The way things were going, they wouldn’t see much progress in the upcoming months.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I forgot to leave a note out last night. We received an email notification from the Chinese that they plan to ship a new beta program allowing us to maximize the transponders on the FLIES.”

“Did they say when they expect to ship the program?”

“Yes, sir. The disc should have been shipped today, according to the message.”

“I need details. Anything I can find out about the program can be most useful. It will save time developing an actionable plan if we have details now rather than later. Email them back and request every bit of detail you can securely receive.”

The District

Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin came walking out of the room that was once known as the Oval Office. Walking out directly in front of him was a captain of the IHSF, or Iranian Homeland Security Forces, as it was known. The IHSF was created post-jihadi war for the purpose of monitoring weaknesses in the United States’ security systems, whether it be cyber security or national security. The captain traveled to America for one purpose, to reach his supreme commander on earth, General Muhaimin.

“Thank you for stopping by, Captain Kianoush Delwadewala. The information you have provided me is greater than you may know.”

“Sir, if ever you need me, please call on me. My plane leaves tomorrow morning; after that, you know how to reach me.”

“Indeed, I do, and you have assured yourself a future in my service by proving your loyalty. There may be an opening for you to promote up sooner rather than later.”

“Thank you, sir, and good day.”

Captain Delwadewala bowed his head to the general and left. He had given Muhaimin information that was beyond valuable.

Apparently, the IHSF had intercepted cyber communications from the UN Council to key members of the UN forces on the ground in America. The information told of an Operation Black State, which was a fallback plan should General Muhaimin fail in securing the Agenda in America. According to Captain Delwadewala, Operation Black State was a biological weapon that would kill enough people to meet Relocation Protocol. Operation Black State was believed to be a weaponized form of the Black Plague pandemic that killed upwards of two hundred million people in the mid-1300s. The operation would make America uninhabitable for some time, so it was slated to be used only in the event of a worst-case scenario. The Russian and, of course, the Iranian representatives were deeply opposed to such a tactic.

Also, according to the captain, Ambassador Pao, of the Peoples Republic of China, had expressed a dislike of General Muhaimin on multiple occasions, sometimes calling him
a demagogue
and denigrating his name in front of other members of the council.

The information brought to the general both gladdened him and angered him. The general had always been a lover of the phrase
knowledge is power
, and being given this information prepared him and gave him the upper hand.

MGRS 16TEL35, Tippecanoe River State Park, Indiana

General John James’s Marines arrived at the predetermined rendezvous point hours before Buchanan’s men were expected to arrive. They had set up snipers in key positions throughout the park. John had no desire to shoot any of Buchanan’s men, but he was smart enough to know the difference between preparedness and unpreparedness. What the general didn’t know was Buchanan had Reconnaissance Marines and shared the same tactical readiness, but had better trained Marines. Their ability to locate and neutralize unseen threats through the use of counter-reconnaissance had proven useful. The Reconnaissance Marines had located the snipers and taken them at gunpoint. One of Buchanan’s men radioed back and gave a situation report to their commander. The rest lay there quietly, with their fellow Marines tied and gagged, watching the rendezvous point until they received commands to do otherwise.

Within an hour, a platoon-sized group of Buchanan’s men arrived and met up with an equal-sized group of James’s men. It was Gunnery Sergeant Franks and Sergeant First Class Reynolds that stepped forward first.

“My name is Gunnery Sergeant Franks, Recon, and this is Sergeant First Class Reynolds, Ranger. We are here acting on behalf of our commanding officer. Which one of you represents General John James?”

A Marine Corps sergeant by the name of Rick
Hammel
 stepped forward.

“I’m Sergeant Hammel, Comm.”

Franks looked at Reynolds and said, “At least they didn’t send a non-rate.”

Franks stepped up to Sergeant Hammel and extended his hand.

“Is the general lacking brass that he sends a sergeant?”

“I’m afraid you’ve called it, Gunny. With all due respect to Sergeant First Class Reynolds, all he has is a Navy admiral and an Army National Guard captain, but we’re still gung ho.”

“The commandant said he dispatched intel for our commander?”

“Yes, Gunny. I had to memorize a frequency and channel for you to tune to for continued instruction. The commandant didn’t want to say it over the radio, knowing the enemy may intercept it. The UHF radios we have mutually confiscated from the enemy can be used to communicate via SATCOM. Unfortunately, if we’re not careful, the UN can gain access to our frequencies and receive our transmissions. I understand the science of satellite communications and have been selected to assist you in maintaining tight radio security.”

“This is all very interesting, and we definitely could use your assistance in tightening our radio traffic, but I have a concern that must first be addressed,” Franks replied.

“What’s that, Gunny?”

“You have yet to prove to me that this isn’t bum scoop. How can we trust you?”

“Gunny, the CMC (commandant of the Marine Corps) ordered snipers be placed in random locations around this park. He did this in the event you proved to be a hostile force, but I can see now that you’re not and I’m ordering them down now.”

Hammel turned and grabbed a mic from the communications Marine behind him.

“Overwatch one, we’re secure. Rally on me.”

“Roger that,” the reply came back.

Gunnery Sergeant Franks already knew there were snipers placed in the park before he had ever arrived. He was playing coy to test the sergeant’s truthfulness and mettle. He kept his silence about having secured the snipers to see Hammel’s reaction to the fact that he had the upper hand all along, and that was a mutual symbol of his truthfulness, as well.

It wasn’t long until several Recon Marines came walking down off of key hilltops with Marine prisoners.

“Sergeant Hammel, you’ve proven yourself. Let this be my gesture of goodwill.”

Franks turned to the Recons and said, “Cut them loose and let them go. We’re on the same team now.”

Hammel couldn’t help but feel small and at the mercy of Franks. He was feeling quite relieved that he had mentioned them being on the same team.

Hammel joined Franks and Reynolds and headed back to Bicentennial Park. Of the remaining group of General John James’s men, they did a head count and headed back to Fort Wayne, where they shared everything that had happened to them at Tippecanoe State Park.

Carbondale, Illinois

Tori’s Harley was softly rumbling in idle. She had both feet on the ground and her head was cocked to the right as the stranger walked towards her. He was tall with an average build. His hair was long, brown, and matched the facial hair that dominated his face. He was right-handed with a Colt-style rifle slung across the front of his body, the buttstock of the weapon at the top right shoulder of the man. It was tucked too high into his chest with a tight three-point sling that would make it difficult for him to aim down the sights. Tori knew this man was familiar with gear, but was not a veteran. The man boldly walked in close to her.

“Are you in need of assistance?” the man asked.

“Not at all. I’m trailing a group of friends that might have come through this way. Maybe you’ve seen them?”

Tori was confident that if Nathan had passed through here with a group of Marines, the man would most certainly know of it.

He didn’t answer her question immediately. He strolled around Tori and checked out her gear. He noticed she was traveling light. There were saddlebags on either side of her seat, with a rifle holster and her Remington resting on the left side of the bike. When he had made a full circle, the man stopped with his back to the crowd that he had left behind.

“Yeah, we saw a group of military men coming through here, just today. They kept heading east.”

The stranger pointed in an eastward direction, towards Marion.

“You’re a brave woman to travel alone.”

“I never said I was alone,” Tori said. Her eyes locked on the stranger’s eyes.

The man looked east and west, down both directions the road was heading.

“I don’t see anybody, lady. You’re all alone.”

The man’s arms were spread and his voice escalated as if to say
it’s just
me
 
and me on this long empty road.

“You forgot Bubba,” Tori said with a calm quiet voice.

The man looked around again, but still could not see anybody.

“Who’s Bubba?” he exclaimed, this time even louder and more obnoxious than before.

Tori wiggled the 1911 she had pointed at the stranger with her left hand. She wasn’t left-handed, but at this range, it would matter very little.

The man looked down and was surprised that a female had the drop on him. His hands were no longer on his rifle, but were spread and locked in the position they were in when he came to the revelation that she had a 1911 pointed at his chest. He was afraid to move at this point and only uttered three words.

“Oh, that’s Bubba.”

“Keep your right hand in the air and slowly use your left hand to detach the quick-release snap on that fancy little three-point sling you’ve got there. If you move suddenly, I’ll blow a hole through your chest, I’ll still take that rifle, and be long gone before your gangster friends get here.”