The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga Read online

  Barron arched an eyebrow. When he had told Jones to do something with the people that they round up from the program, the idea of re-education centers had sounded brilliant. That said, Barron couldn’t see how it would work if the entire family wasn’t shipped off to be shown the error of their ways. "Why are you only sending the men?"

  Jones dropped the paper and stared at the screen. "We have two levels of re-education centers, sir. Level I is for the women and children. It's also for anyone we deem nonthreatening, just misguided. There they are taught that loyalty to America means loyalty to you. We explain to them that it is their best—their only—option for survival. They are instructed on what to say, how to act, and most importantly: how to communicate with us should they come across any other dissenters. We teach them how to obtain food, water, shelter—”

  “Wait a minute. Why are we doing all this?”

  “Sir, we’re not letting these people stay in their own homes. The best way to re-educate someone is to remove them from their familiar surroundings, throw them into a new place, and force them to try and fit in with new neighbors."

  "So, how do we know where to send the women and children?"

  Jones nodded. "A most astute question, sir. I have some professors—pulled from local university registrar lists—they're conducting sociological surveys of the detainees right now.”

  “I would think those are exactly the kind of people we wouldn’t be able to get involved in something like this…”

  “Oh,” said the frog, “once they understood the seriousness of our request, every one of them fell in line.” He smiled. “We should have results in the next day or so. What we're trying to determine is the minimum safe distance needed to transport these women and children to an environment where they will be uncomfortable and forced to conform.” He held up a hand. “I'm sorry, sir—force is too strong a word for what we’re trying to do. We’re trying to find a spot for them so that they’ll fit in willingly, in order to draw less attention to themselves. To do that, we also need to have information on which areas of the country are particularly loyal to you. Once I have the data I need, we’ll begin transporting the women and children to these ‘safe zones’, as we've started calling them."

  The President nodded, taking it all in. So far, Jones was following the plan Reginald had laid out very well. "And their men? I don't suppose these women and children will be too loyal to me if we abduct their husbands and fathers and keep them separated…"

  Jones nodded. "Indeed. Level II facilities will house male heads of families that have displayed tendencies to support Harris and his illegal administration. Our first order of business is to separate the ones that are truly violent and/or planning on taking matters into their own hands. If these men—after they’re tested by our psychologists—are determined to be worthy of rehabilitation, will be put through an extensive re-education program. It may take months, we’re not sure yet—before they are reunited with their families."

  "And, what are you going to do with the ones who refuse to submit to the re-education? I’m sure there will be some…"

  "I will need your authorization to use lethal force to dispatch enemies of the state, sir," said Jones. The man showed no emotion whatsoever. He just asked the President of the United States for permission to execute American citizens. The shock of his words sent a shiver rippling through Barron’s chest.

  My God, has it come to this already?

  The President cleared his throat. "I'm not too keen on authorizing executions just yet. There doesn't seem to be any indication that—"

  "Oh, there will be, sir. Out here in the field," said Jones as he glanced off-camera, "the civilian population is almost at the boiling point. I've seen I don't know how many fist fights and split heads and burned homes in the last week. It’s very dangerous out here, sir.” He paused to knuckle his eyes and stifle a yawn. “At least in the mixed-loyalty areas. In the safe zones everything seems to be going well. We’ve distributed food, water, and medicine. Loyalists seem to be taking everything in stride.”

  Jones paused to take a sip of water. “However, once you move further outside the cities and into the fly-over states, we’re finding a disturbing amount of support for Harris. The people out here have been openly hostile toward us. Kansas in particular. In fact, sir, I've already lost three men."

  "Lost three men? How?" asked Barron. That was not an auspicious start to his combining the federal agency security forces.

  "They weren't even armed," said Jones with barely concealed disgust. "They were merely researchers. Sent out on a routine mission into the farmland surrounding Lawrence. I assure you, sir, they had no hostile intent. They merely drove around the area, inquiring of the local populace how they were getting on—if they needed food, water, medicine, what have you. For the most part, people have been wary.”

  “That’s understandable if things are as bad as you say…”

  “Agreed. For the most part, the information we’ve gathered so far has helped us understand that these people are quite self-sufficient. They’re starting to run low on food, but most of them are farmers. They're surrounded by cattle. These people will be the most challenging to re-educate. That's why I've set up my headquarters here, in Kansas City."

  "Kansas City? I thought I authorized you to set up shop outside of Philadelphia?"

  "Yes sir, you did, however, Philadelphia is dead center on the Eastern Seaboard, an area that's already deeply loyal to you. I felt it would be the best use of our limited infrastructure and transportation assets to set up our field headquarters closer to where the heart of our troubles are currently located. We’ll have faster response times to hot zones that flare up if we don’t have to travel halfway across the country." Jones blinked. The expression on his face suggested that he was shocked the President had questioned his opinion.

  Barron made a note to investigate a little deeper into the background of Tennyson Jones. Jayne had vetted Jones—still under her drug-induced control, Barron had readily signed off on him.

  "Very well, we'll see how things progress from Kansas City for now. But in the future, when I make a suggestion, you are to consider it an order, not a request. Are we clear?"

  Jones nodded. "Crystal, sir. However, I think you will see that my decision to place the headquarters out here will ultimately be the wiser course of action. As I said, one three-man team ran into some trouble two days ago. They approached one of the more isolated residences and a man immediately demanded that they vacate his property. His property," said Jones, his face incredulous. "Can you believe it? Martial law has been declared and the Constitution has been suspended. We have foreign troops occupying most of our major cities and people out here still believe that they own their land. The attitudes out here are simply stunning, sir."

  I’m seeing some pretty stunning attitudes myself. "So the farmer advised your men to leave—"

  "Two men, one woman. And the farmer did not advise them, sir. He stepped onto his front porch brandishing a shotgun and waved it at them."

  "How do we know this?"

  "Dashboard cameras, sir. Just about every vehicle under my jurisdiction has had dashboard cameras mounted in them. The individual agencies—especially the EPA—have had too many lawsuits in the past over abuse of power. We were able to ascertain what happened and who to punish. I will arrange to have the video sent to your office, for your personal review, sir. But I must warn you, the video is quite graphic. The farmer opened up at point blank and nearly took the head off one agent. The woman—"

  The President closed his eyes and raised a hand for silence. "That's all right, Tennyson, I'll review the video later.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Jesus Christ, I’ve got to stop this before it gets out of hand. “Just tell me what happened." He'd seen too much death and destruction in the last few weeks, he did not need to be told how a farmer had killed three people—three government employees—in explicit detail.

  "Of course, sir. M
y apologies. The dashboard camera clearly indicated that the farmer murdered my people in cold blood. The video shows him dragging the bodies out to the car and leaving them there, without so much as a wooden cross or pile of rocks to keep scavengers at bay. The callous way in which he dispatched the lives of these government agents is perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the entire incident."

  The President took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Some farmer had killed three agents—his agents. People personally loyal to him. It never dawned on Barron before now, but people who had sworn personal loyalty to him in the middle of this crisis were like his own children.

  Jayne and Reginald had conspired long ago to make sure that his own family had disappeared somewhere into the interior of the country, under lock and key. They claimed it had been necessary to protect them, but he had known all along it was to ensure his good behavior and compliance with their wishes. He had fallen into a habit of not thinking about them in order to force himself to agree with whatever Jayne and Reginald demanded. It had been so much easier that way. He didn't have to worry about their safety.

  But now, their absence left a hole in his heart that he filled with those who had declared their loyalty for him. It was all rather twisted, he thought, but in a way it made sense. At least, that's how he justified the anger he felt when thinking about the fact that three of his agents had been gunned down.

  "What was our response?" he said in a quiet tone.

  Jones’s face darkened and a smile, slick as oil, spread across his thick lips. "I dispatched one of our response teams to the last known location of our agents the following day. That would be yesterday, sir. We're spread pretty thin out here, and the only way to get things done is to allow my teams to roam for a few days at a time. However, when they don't check in at the end of the day, things being as volatile as they are out here in the sticks, I tend to err on the side of caution and send a response team immediately.”

  Jones looked off-camera and nodded at someone. He took an offered clipboard and signed a document as he talked: “In this case, when the team arrived on scene, they found the abandoned vehicle and the bodies almost immediately. A quick review of the dash cam told the team leader exactly what had happened.” He handed the clipboard back to some unseen assistant and folded his hands on his desk, leaning in toward the camera. “I authorize wide discretion to response team leaders as to what the rules of engagement will be for each particular situation. It’s part of the incentive program for our new recruits…”

  Barron wasn't sure how he felt about that little tidbit of information. He made another note to settle what the rules of engagement should be in the future. The last thing he needed was for Jones to crack down too hard and drive those people who would normally have been at least indifferent to him into the open arms of Harris and his traitors.

  "The team leader decided that an example needed to be made—we’ve had reports that the neighboring farms were just as opposed to your administration as the farmer who killed our people. So the team leader executed summary judgment upon the family."

  "Wait, upon the family? Not just the farmer?"

  "During the on-scene interrogation, the team leader discovered that the family was almost as rabidly anti-government as the farmer. He deemed—and I agree with him—that the best course of action was elimination. It would not only set an example for farms in the immediate area, but it would spread the word that anyone who kills federal agents will lose more than just their own life. Disloyalty will be punished.”

  Oh, my God… The President put a hand to his forehead and sighed. "The Press is going to find out about this—someone's going to talk. I need the details. Who was in the family?"

  Jones looked off-camera. He lifted a paper and began to read. "Let's see here, looks like one Mr. George Dunbar: male head of household. Female head of household: Elizabeth Dunbar and three children. Allison, George Jr., and Marianne. Ages are as follows: Mr. Dunbar, 59, Mrs. Dunbar, 56. The eldest child was 17, the other two, 16 and 12." He read the names and ages as if he were reading the baseball scores from the previous day’s sports page.

  The President snapped his pencil in half. "Jesus Christ, you let your people slaughter apple pie Americana. Mom and pop and three kids! Teenagers. A 12-year-old? I can't believe I'm hearing this!"

  "Mr. President, the team leader assures me that when they breached the house, the children attacked his team with knives and—"

  "Wait. Stop right there. This team leader, what was his first course of action? When did they kill Mr. Dunbar?"

  Jones looked at his paper again. "According to the report, sir, the team leader dispensed summary judgment upon Mr. Dunbar on the front porch. Mrs. Dunbar they found just inside the front door. The children were coming down the stairs and were already armed."

  President Barron shook his head. "Don't you get it? What would you do if some armed thugs showed up at your house and murdered your parents right before your eyes? What would you do if they kicked in the door to your house? Would you stand there and cry or would you go after them with whatever you had on hand? "

  Jones’s face was unreadable, set in granite. "The children attacked the team leader and under the rules of engagement—"

  "Which he made up on the spot—" Barron said.

  "Indeed. Under the rules of engagement, they had been attacked and were forced to return fire to defend themselves."

  "Good Lord," muttered Barron. “’Return fire.’ Can’t you hear yourself? What fire were they returning against kids armed with kitchen knives?” Barron shook his head in disgust. “People loyal to me, gunning down teenagers." If this had happened just a month ago, there would have been hell to pay: accusations, inquisitions, subpoenas, Congress hearings—the end of the fucking world.

  A small voice in the back of his head asked quietly: But now? There are no hearings in Congress—there's hardly even any Congress left. I make the rules, my people enforce them. I answer to no one now. Except Reginald.

  Who will you answer to for Atlanta?

  A line had to be drawn, or Jones and his goons would run rampant across the country he meant to rule. "I'm instituting an immediate moratorium on these loose rules of engagement that you've allowed, Tennyson. I don't like this. Going after the farmer was one thing," said the President, “gunning down his wife and children—"

  "They also burned the house to the ground," said Jones.

  The President closed his eyes. “Tennyson, these barbaric tactics must stop. The only thing accomplished here will be the complete loss of those that lived around this poor family. Any of them that were even close to being on the fence about which side to join—I guarantee you, will have just joined Harris."

  "Then we will root them out as well, sir."

  "Don't you get it? These heavy-handed tactics will drive more and more people into Harris’s arms. If you go and wipe out five other farms, ten more will join his side. No.” The President stood and slammed both hands on his desk. He leaned into the camera. “I'm ordering you to stop this right now. Our other tactics, the re-education camps, the splitting up of families—I'm also not at all comfortable with all that—but at least no one is being executed, for Christ’s sake. Walking in there and burning down the house and slaughtering five people—five Americans—is not going to solve our problems. Furthermore, I want this team leader reassigned back to your headquarters. Whoever this person was, they are no longer to be out in the field until I say so. Am I clear?"

  "Understood, sir. Might I add—"

  "You may not. I am the President of United States. You work at my pleasure—when I ask you to do something, I'm telling you to do it my way or I will damn well find someone who will. I ask again: am I making myself clear?"

  Jones stiffened as if slapped. "Absolutely, sir. It won't happen again Mr. President."

  "See that it doesn't. Harris will have a field day with the Press when this gets out.” He shook his head again. “Jesus Christ…” He took a deep breath and coun
ted to ten, not caring if Jones had to wait. “Now," said Barron, when he was good and ready to move on to the next topic, "I've heard some good things about that other program that you instituted—what's it called again?"

  Jones cleared his throat. "Yes sir, the Look The Other Way program." The man smiled again and confidence reappeared on his face. "I'm quite proud of this one, sir. We have replaced many of the municipal police forces across the United States with people that we have screened and found loyal to you.”

  How the hell did you have time to do this in the last two weeks, Reginald? A sick feeling filled Barron’s stomach. You planned this all along. How many years did it take to get the right people in just the right positions of local authority all across the country, just waiting for this day.

  “—outright fired anyone or forced anyone to leave, but we have made it abundantly clear that should people loyal to Harris remain in their positions, my men and the loyal citizenry will make their lives extremely difficult. Most have seen the wisdom of retiring and heading home. We only had a few instances where sheriffs in Georgia and Florida decided to buck the trend and turn our people away."

  "Did these sheriffs receive summary judgment like the Dunbar family?" asked the President, acid on his tongue.

  Jones swallowed, displaying more than a hint of unease. "I made sure that these dissenters were taken care of quietly, sir. It won't do to have people in positions of civic authority—especially the police—openly opposed to your rule. I have teams that have been put together from people with certain skill sets—ex-private contractors and corporate espionage personnel—who have demonstrated their ability to remove problems from the equation without causing a scene."

  President Barron didn't know which method he hated more. The open murder and destruction of private property in the case of the Dunbars, or the middle-of-the-night snatch and grab of sworn law enforcement officers. Both methods were repugnant to every tenet of the Constitution, but at least he saw the wisdom of removing armed authority figures from the situation.