Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (81 page)

Nathan wanted to play his cards just right. He still didn’t know anything about Markus and the Syndicate. To reveal too much information could jeopardize his and Denny’s lives by scrubbing out any further usefulness. As long as he and Denny knew things that Markus didn’t, then they stood a chance to survive.

“I answered the last question,” Nathan said. “How about you answer the next question and then we take turns?”

“Fair enough,” Markus replied.

Nathan thought for a moment and realized Markus still hadn’t offered up an answer for his question regarding Markus’s operation. Needing an answer to that, but not desiring to waste any questions on trivial issues, he went with, “Is this organization of yours the Syndicate? And how are you affiliated with it?”

“That’s two questions! But, since I’m the host, I’ll appease you …”

Markus began his slow walk through the halls of the mysterious building and then began his answer, “The Syndicate was born from the ashes of chaos. After the Flip, food, water, shelter, and other resources that we had once taken for granted became precious resources. We had to find ways to
improvise, adapt, and overcome
,” he said, looking at Nathan with a half smirk. It might have been considered an ode to Nathan’s survival instincts, if not for his mistrust of Markus.

Markus continued, “So a means to an end was established. The purpose was to make do with what we had, adapt to that, and overcome our odds.”

Nathan knew Markus was using his own ethos against him. He could only assume the logic behind it was to get him and Denny to side with him.

“The Syndicate grew and eventually became too large to conceal from the UN occupants. We learned how to peacefully coexist next door to our enemy. I’ve been a member since the beginning. I’m kind of like an emissary that travels from area to area, establishing new branches of our organization. The goal is to become strong enough to govern ourselves without the fear of foreign involvement; and by
foreign
, I mean the United Nations or any other foreign occupancy.”

“And how do you survive? Where do you get your food?” Nathan asked.

“Not quite so fast,” Markus said. “You haven’t answered my question. Do you know Pastor Rory Price?”

Nathan was deeply concerned over Markus’s interest in Rory. So he decided to tidy up the answer with a colorful story of his own.

“Yes, we know Rory. He’s a good friend of ours and a valuable member of our very large group—a group of heavily armed Marines, Army, and militia members from all the area. We were headed to Goose Island when we separated for a separate mission. Now, our group is staging for an invasion of Goose Island, and I can only imagine that by now, it’s set to take it over and then win our freedom back from UN control.”

“That’s interesting; my sources tell me that Rory was picked up by a convoy of Army personnel. We watched that convoy for some time. They ended up leaving the area together. There no longer in Syndicate territory.”

Nathan’s heart sank when he heard that Rory and his uncle, Captain Lewis Richards, had left without them.

“In fact,” Markus added, “my sources tell me that a small group of his friends was captured by the Jackals.”

Markus stopped in front of a door and then turned towards Nathan and Denny; his focus was on Denny. Denny’s face was black and blue and still puffy in some areas. The Fist had beaten Denny in the face enough to leave evidence for some days to come.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Markus asked rhetorically, looking at Denny.

“Not so fast,” Nathan said. “What about your food supply? How do you keep your people fed?”

Markus looked at Nathan, opened the large door and led them up the stairs.

“We keep our food sources on the tenth floor, Nathan.”

Markus opened the door at the top of the staircase and walked in. Nathan and Denny followed, with four armed guards still escorting them.

“I know, I know, it’s a lot to take in, but we have had to improvise, adapt, and overcome,” he said, stepping aside to let them see the populace of men and women. The entire floor was gutted of walls. Men, women, and children were in sleeping bags—wall to wall. The odor was extremely pungent smelling. There was one wall with urinals and toilets. No doubt they all shared that space, too.

Nathan had a sinking feeling that he had been duped.
This is the end
, he thought. These people were fodder, and now he and Denny would join their ranks, that was, unless they joined their team.

“Now, what I don’t want is for you to start a panic,” Markus said. “So I’m going to ask you to step back through the door.”

Nathan and Denny backed up; both men kept their silence.

“Let me explain: These people are going to die, regardless. What we do is promise them safety from UN encroachment. We tell them that we have the strength of arms to secure a broadening safe zone and then promise to find them replacement homes. They leave with us peacefully and never return. The people of the tenth floor never know any difference. The tenth floor of every building in our area of operation is occupied just like this; this is how we survive—mice and men.”

Nathan and Denny were both shocked to hear the depravity. It was far worse than they had seen yet. Nathan was trying hard to think of a way out. The weight of this knowledge was pushing to the front of his processes and he was having difficulty thinking about anything else. He said the first thing that came to his mind.

“I may be able to adjust to your mode of survival. You mentioned the Jackals. You were right; the Jackals captured me, Denny, and another friend. They killed her, beat him, and made me watch the whole thing. Now, I’m interested in your group, but let me probe your thoughts a little …”

Nathan was ready to try his hand at manipulating Markus. If he could determine that the Syndicate had legitimate issues with the Jackals, he might be able to provoke him into making a move against them; essentially, he could get Markus to start a gang feud.

“What if I told you that we’ve been fighting the UN long enough to know that they’re allies with the Jackals?”

“I would ask you, where do you get such information?”

“And I would answer, from the Jackals
.
While we were captive, they explained to us that their affiliations are with the UN. They have a leader that calls himself the Fist, and his allegiance is to the United Nations Muslim commanders.”

Nathan was mixing lies with truths, hoping to stir an emotion in Markus, anything he could use against him.

Nathan continued, “Once the Jackals reach their full potential, their goals are to take over America and to create a caliphate out of our country. Where do you think the Syndicate fits into this equation?”

Markus knew Nathan was right. He had been taking notice of an increasing growth rate of the Jackals’ organization. Fewer European commanders were being seen, and more Middle Eastern commanders were being appointed. With enough time, the Jackals’ population would be large enough to take the area; and with the UN’s military support, commanded by jihadist officers, there would be no stopping them.

“If what you say is true, we need to work together,” Markus said.

Nathan wanted to smile, but he knew his smile would give away his deception. “I’m listening.”

“How big is this force you claim to be a part of?”

“It’s not a claim—it’s legit. Our numbers have recently increased, and I’m not sure of the exact number anymore, but I’m confident we are several thousand strong, each battle-hardened and well-trained active duty and veterans.”

Nathan was careful not to reveal any logistics, in part because he was unsure of what the Marine Corps Commandant had in his arsenal.

Nathan could tell that Markus was deep in thought.

“Look,” Nathan continued, “if you join me in taking out the Jackals and ousting the UN’s hold over America, your days of eating man flesh will be over.”

“I’m in, but only if you can prove that your claim is legitimate. I want proof of your group’s existence.”

“That’s fair,” Nathan added.

“What do you need?”

“I’ll need a UN PRC and an officer.”

Markus looked over to one of his armed guards and nodded his head to him. The man left to do Markus’s bidding.

“A UN portable radio communications device is easy to snag, but an officer?”

“They carry a list of frequencies that they use to cycle out old freqs to new ones. If we have an officer, we have communications. On top of that, I know the frequency my group uses. The UN’s been using long-range translators and boosters of some sort to get their comm out. When I make contact with my people, you’ll have your proof; but be warned, they’re not going to blast their size or strength over the radio.”

East of Sioux Falls, South Dakota

The 21
^st
Marine Corps Regiment was six hours into their trip. UN activity on I-90 was minimal. They saw roughly fifteen UN armored troop transports, and each one was attacked and destroyed. Thirty civilian vehicles had joined the convoy and followed in the rear. They were gauged as nonhostile and permitted to follow as long as they didn’t conduct any suspicious behavior. The general had given an order to stop at the next convenient rest area to determine their intentions. He welcomed and encouraged any and all freedom fighters that were brave enough to rally against the enemy. He had determined in his heart that this was the second American Revolution and that it would be recorded as such. As history had always proven, the victors wrote the books.

Sergeant Banks group was especially tired. They had just traveled to South Dakota only to find out they were headed back. Tori’s confrontation with Buchanan left her a bit irritable. The bumpy ride in the HMMWV wasn’t helping the situation. Her shiny 1911 Smith & Wesson was digging into her skin with each bump in the road. Some of the Marines were picking on her because they could tell she was going through her
lady days.
She couldn’t wait to reach the rest area.

When they were far enough on the outskirts of Sioux Falls, the convoy veered off the eastbound I-90 and crossed over the grassy median strip and onto the westbound I-90 to reach the rest stop.

Tori had barely waited for the convoy to come to a stop when she was opening the door to get out. She had already taken her pistol, Bubba, out of her waistband and had it in hand. Nobody was picking on her at this point. She walked away towards the state facility and disappeared out of sight.

Buchanan watched her walk away while he reminisced about Nathan. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility to the original course of action. With this in mind, he approached General John James.

“Sir, may I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, Charles. What’s on your mind?”

Buchanan was going to use Nathan’s title as a US Marine to persuade John into making a pit stop at Goose Island.

“I have a Marine in Illinois on a mission to destroy the FEMA-UN internment camp where it sits on Goose Island. This Marine was an extraordinary asset to me during my tenure with the southern Illinois troubles. He ran a fully operational and self-sustaining homestead—”

“That’s fine, Charles,” John interrupted. “I understand the need for good men. I also understand the need to take out the bad ones. I was going to make a pit stop of my own; I just haven’t said anything yet because it’s much further up the road.”

“You’ve done grabbed my attention, John. What’s in your head?”

“A small town just west of Opal, Virginia.”

Gunnery Sergeant Franks walked up to Buchanan. “Sorry to impose, but we have something interesting coming over the radio you might want to hear,” he said. The two men followed Franks to one of the UN command post vehicles that Banks had brought with him. Banks was already inside, communicating with a man whose voice Buchanan recognized as Nathan Roeh’s.

Tori was exiting the building when she saw a growing congregation of Marines and militia members around the UN mobile command unit. She began a gentle jog to join up with them and was elated to hear Nathan’s voice on the other end of the radio. Banks had a map scrolled out in front of him, with his finger on Chicago.

“Can we rally at Navy Pier? Over,”
Nathan’s voice asked.

Banks turned to the general for an answer, who then looked to Belt and asked, “How far is Navy Pier from Goose Island?”

“Less than twenty minutes, by my recollection,” Belt answered.

John looked back at Banks and nodded his head in the affirmative.

“10-4 on that, Nathan. Maintain defensive status until we arrive. ETA about nine hours. Over and out.”

Banks rolled the map up and looked at Tori with a smile. “You see? He’s fine.”

“What about Denny? Did he mention him?”

“Yeah, he mentioned that he and Denny were both secure.”

“What about Jess? Did he mention her?”

“I’m afraid he didn’t mention anybody else, just that he and Denny were secure.”

“Jess is a survivor, Tori,” Buchanan added. “I’m sure she’s fine, too.”

Tori was definitely excited to hear about Nathan’s safety. Denny’s safety added to the excitement, but a lack of news on Jess’s safety gave reason for alarm. She wasn’t exactly
besties
with Jess, but they were drawing closer with each day; at least that was how Tori felt about it. The fact that they were both alpha female types might have had a little to do with the early feelings of animosity they had felt towards one another. All things being said, Tori and Jess would have defended each other until the bitter end.

Chicago, Illinois

Markus was content. Both Rory and Nathan had touted a large military force, and Nathan had finally pulled through with some kind of supporting evidence. Markus had lots of planning to do and only a nine-hour window to get it done. Before he turned to walk away from Nathan and Denny, he looked at the lead guard and said, “Release them.”

Markus was walking away when Nathan said, “What about our weapons?”

“I had hoped you’d understand if I didn’t return your weapons just yet. Because of the circumstances prior to your arrival and my holding you captive, I just feel it would be bad judgment to give you rifles.”

Markus turned to walk away again, but stopped dead in his tracks and turned around one last time. “Oh, by the way, you can’t leave the building until I lay eyes on your group. Hearing a voice over a radio suffices for the moment that what you say is true, but for me, seeing is believing, Nathan.”

Markus walked away.

Nathan knew that in time, Markus would see the size of the group in question and have no choice but to comply with setting him and Denny loose. If Markus chose to detain them until Buchanan’s arrival, Nathan figured he would have the deck stacked against Markus in such a way that he could make the decision to kill Markus or to use him to their advantage. Only time would be able to tell how things would pan out. For now, it was the waiting game, a game that Nathan had played many times over in the Marines—
hurry up and wait.

The District

Executive Commander Muhaimin was sitting in the Situation Room with his top military commanders; each of them were Iranian. There had been a large and sudden gathering of intelligence from the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence that the United Nations was calling home all Russian assets that were serving in America for the Agenda 21 protocol.

Through the years, Russia had had its ups and downs with America, many more bad days than good, but Muhaimin’s assassination of Russian officers was a war crime in the eyes of Russia. It was an act that would not go without an answer. The pulling of Russian troops from UN service was a big move, but it was only the beginning. The calling home of Russian assets was not a move for the defense of America, it was a move against Muhaimin that surviving Americans could benefit from.

The Russian president was an intelligent man and a student of history. His frustrations toward the West motivated him to become a champion of US history. If there was one thing the Russian president understood well from historical lessons, it was that Americans had always been extremely resilient. His studies of the American Revolution taught him that much could be done with little, where there was hope and at least one ally with a mutual enemy.

When Ambassador Makarovich returned to Russia with news of his forced resignation and what the Iranian commander had done to Russian officers, the president called for a meeting with the Security Council to act on the attacks, saying, “An attack on Russian soldiers is an attack on Russia.” Their parliament agreed, and deliberations with the Security Council were conducted to develop a practical response. The outcome was that Russia’s assets in the UN were returning home and they would be debriefed regarding their treatment under Muhaimin’s regime.

The plan was to learn of Muhaimin’s management of military force to determine his strengths and weaknesses on the battlefield. Russian intelligence was already probing into Iranian ties with Muhaimin to determine their connections, if any, to his actions. What they had discovered was that Muhaimin had connections in virtually every branch of Iranian government, especially within the military. Even their representative to the UN was under the influence of Muhaimin.

Ever increasing Iranian volunteers to UN service, lies regarding the progress in America, the assignment of certain Iranian Special Operations members, such as Rasoul Konat aka the Fist, and several other secret operations involving the misuse of Iranian intelligence were brought to the ears of the Russians. It would appear certain that Iran had been hiding cards under the table. Their dislike of Russians would be amplified in the mind of a narcissistic sociopath like Abdul Muhaimin. It was an opportunity that he exploited and the Iranians took advantage of, but at a cost that was now becoming apparent to Muhaimin.

“Can we continue to make progress without the Russians?” he asked.

One of the agents from the ministry of Iranian intelligence was brave enough to answer. “Sir, we can defeat the remnants of the American resistance with your leadership in the name of Allah.”

It was an answer he provided out of fear. Muhaimin’s intimidation over his people was backfiring on him, and his egocentric personality was all the more puffed up hearing the answer.

“What do the Russians know?”

“They know of your ties to Ambassador Gohari, your contacts with the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence, and influence over the Iranian Army in the motherland.”

Muhaimin stood up and placed his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a light gray three-piece suit. His hair was neatly groomed, even after he took his right hand from his pocket and ran his hands through it. He was in deep thought, but the day was late. In his arrogance, he waved the members of the Situation Room away and said, “It’s getting late. I will rest and think on this matter. Tomorrow, at 10:00 a.m., I want to see all of you right here to discuss the next phase of this plan.”

He looked around the room, and all the men were still seated in anticipation of hearing his next command.

“You are dismissed.”

The members stood up and quietly walked out. Muhaimin waited for every member to leave the room. When the last man had walked out, Muhaimin pulled out his cell phone and pushed three buttons before holding the phone to his ear.

“Konat.”

“Konat, this is Muhaimin.”

“Hello, old friend. How are things progressing?”

“Not as smoothly as I had hoped. I was wondering if you had good news for me on your progress to silence the American resistance.”

“It is too early to tell, but I made an example of three of them. I am sure they will come around.”

“If we have any remaining Russians, detain them and hold them for military tribunal. I suspect that we have traitors in our forces. They talk too much, and word has reached Russia that I dispatched their officers. They are attempting to call their men out of my service, but they will not be permitted to go until they have been found without accusation. Can you do this for me?”

“Yes, old friend. I will make it happen.”

“Good. And by the way, Mr. Konat, it’s Executive Commander, not old friend.”

“Yes, Executive Commander. I will make it happen.”

“I knew I could count on you.”