Spokesmen Bowen Graham sat brooding at his desk in his office. The savvy politician from Great Britain was in a foul mood. A knock at the door stirred him from his daydream.
"What is it this time, Alice?" he sighed when the young woman poked her head in the door.
"Sorry," she smiled. "I can come back if you’d like."
Graham raised his head, eyed her, and clasped his hands together. “So, you can just interrupt me yet again? Why are you here? Let me guess. You have yet another tantalizing piece of gossip you’re just aching to share? Who’s against me this time, hm?"
"Oh," Alice said, apparently taken aback by his tone. "Well, it’s just that um..."
Graham sighed and dropped his head "Alice I-
"Well it's-uh, the Guardian Times is still requesting an interview about your press conference. They’re challenging your claim that the war is over."
"I’m sorry?" Graham said, attempting to keep his composure. “My claim? Did you just say my claim? What else?"
“Well, you already know that Senator Blare Fitzpatrick has been in an uproar about some of your statements regarding-
“Again, with Fitzpatrick?” Graham snapped, making Alice jump. “Have I not said everything that fiend in a suit asked? America is no more? The United States is now The United Republic of the Alliance?”
Alice, clearly dejected by his attitude towards her avoided eye contact. “Well, he listed several things in your speech; praising the first attacks on American soil, the outlawing of American insignia, and usage of the name of God. His claim is that you went rogue. In any event, he has convinced three-fourths of the members of the Reformation Colony that you are a socialist."
Graham gawked at Alice amused and laughed aloud. "And why is that a bad thing? Maybe I am a socialist; so is Senator Fitzpatrick and everyone else who believes in a nation free from corruption. I mean why else take down the free world and fight capitalism?”
Bowen had known that his incendiary comments would send the world into an uproar. He knew that the backlash would be vicious. And he enjoyed it. He craved the attention, and the ability to set the world on fire. He was ecstatic but not surprised to be invited from Great Britain to the fallen nation by the Joint Alliance Command's U.K. Coalition branch.
But when he was chosen as the U.K.C’s spokesman, it deflated him. He wanted to make history. Not speak on behalf of others who would. So, he in essence went rogue. He understood that his speech would bring him to prominence or be the death of his political career. But in his mind, there would be nothing worth returning home to if he had to continue his role as a herald.
For now, he would play the tortured soul whose only crime was that he loved his country too much; especially Alice’s presence. He knew how Alice felt about him and needed her to empathize with him. Nothing provoked loyalty better than invoking emotion. Alice was intelligent and intuitive, so he would have to put on the performance of his life. He would need her when he decided to make a stand against the powers that be.
"There's more," Alice hesitated to say. “Attorney General Catherine Wilson has lodged a charge against you."
Graham froze. "Catherine? My Catherine?"
"I’m afraid so. As you know, in our new world order, if the attorney general brings a charge against you, then you are forthwith called before the Justice Alliance Command, no matter your stature. You can expect a subpoena on your desk in the morning."
Graham stood and began to pace. "And what about you, Alice?"
The usually outspoken young woman raised her eyebrows and stared at her boss blankly. "Pardon sir? Me?"
Graham approached her and stood forehead to chin with her. "Yes, you," he said, removing a strand of hair from her face. "Where do you stand?"
Alice swallowed hard. "With all due respect sir, I’m only a secretary. And even if my opinion mattered, not considering that you and I have occasionally shared a bed over a bottle of Bordeaux, you know I would stand with you, no matter what."
Graham stared into her eyes and nodded. "Good to know. Alice you know I think of you as more than just a secretary. You are a strong independent woman capable of great things."
Alice blushed and her pale skin turned a pinkish hue.
"The ideals that you and I share are bigger than us," Graham told her. "We are finally on the threshold of a truly free nation. We must stop those who threaten this Utopia by any means necessary."
"But how? You would take on the JAC by yourself?"
Bowen rested on the corner of his polished Oakwood desk. "I have friends in places that the JAC knows nothing about. I have friends with money and influence who owe their lives to me. Unlike Fitzpatrick, my friends know I can make the best of comrades. Or I can be a living nightmare you never knew you feared."
Alice smiled roguishly and placed her hands on her boss' chest? "Why Sir Graham. You certainly are a man of mystery, aren't you? I'm oozing with anticipation at what your next move is."
"All will be revealed in good time, love." He took her folder and laid it on his desk. "For now, we will entertain these sheep. I will go before the Alliance Command and throw myself on their mercy." He removed her glasses and placed his hands on her face. The woman smiled, longing for him to kiss her. "And when the time is right to strike, you will stand beside me and see our enemies beg for mercy, to which I will show none."
With that, he lifted her in his arms, laid her on his desk, and kissed her passionately.
***
The evening light was beginning to fade by the time John felt comfortable enough to make his way back to the safehouse. But he could tell something was off the moment Claire opened the door. The plucky young woman was good at hiding things, but John knew her tale-tale signs. Her eyebrows were raised, a coping mechanism she developed to deal with stress. Her usual whispery baritone voice was slightly elevated, and her speech pattern was uncharacteristically rapid.
"Dad," she said, her chipper tone unnerving him. "We have a serious problem.”
“What is it?” John said, placing a hand on his holster.
Claire’s eyes widened and she shook her head furiously. “No, Dad. Don’t."
Just then the barrel of a Maxim 9 Silencer peeked from behind the door and pressed against her temple. Claire gulped and closed her eyes, struggling to keep her composure.
John's heart nearly dropped to his stomach. He removed his hand from his waist and stepped back.
"Miles," John called out. "Just take it easy, OK? No one else needs to get hurt."
He located Bill and Margaret through the crack of the door, sitting on the floor at the entrance of the hallway. It appeared that Bill had been injured and Margaret was tending to his wound.
“Marge? You and Tex ok?”
“John,” Margaret wailed from the hallway. “He’s crazy. He hurt Bill. Again.”
“It's going to be alright,” John assured her. “Tex, don’t worry, buddy. I’m going to do my best to make sure you get some help. Miles, I know what you want and I have it."
No response. The gun clicked and Claire jerked.
John put up his hands. “Hey,” he said. "You win. You can have the money. But if you hurt my daughter, I won’t help you. This thing has already gotten way out of control. The media knows our faces which means killing us will further complicate things for you. Why rack up a body count? Just let me come in and we can talk about this like men."
A demonic-possessed looking Miles appeared from behind the door. His black leather coat, dark jeans, and grey scarf gave him the persona of a Black Panther freedom fighter. He draped his arm over Claire's chest and covered her mouth with his leather glove. Keeping the gun to her head he pulled her away from the door so that John could enter.
“Well?” he growled. “Are you just going to stand there looking stupid? Get in here. Hurry up.”
John eased into the cabin and closed the door behind him, careful not to make any sudden moves.
“John,” Margaret said dismally. “His breathing is becoming shallow. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m alright,” Bill mumbled, his arm and shoulder soaked with blood. “I’m Texas-tough. A little blood doesn’t scare me.”
“Yeah, you Texas-tough alright,” Miles scoffed, keeping his eyes on John. “That’s why you squeal like a pig every time I touch you.”
“Please, Miles," Claire begged, clutching his arm around her throat. “Let me help him. I can stop the bleeding."
“I don’t give two cents about that white trash over there. But your garbage of a dad? We got some unfinished business."
“Yeah, Miles,” John said. "I have the policy right here in my coat pocket."
“Hey!” Miles yelled when John reached inside his coat. “I will blow her head clean off her body.”
“Ok, ok,” said John calmly. “Look, my hands are up. See? No gun. Just let Claire go and we can talk about this.”
“First let’s talk about why you’re dressed like a teenager.”
“Here we go,” John sighed.
“Take off that ugly jacket,” Miles said. “I know you’re packing."
“The Siq is in my bag, but the clip is empty.”
“I know. I counted the slugs myself at the checkpoint. I’m talking about that other beauty you were carrying.”
“Huh? The Siq was my only weapon.”
“You really going to lie to me?” Miles shouted, pointing his handgun at John.
“Whoa! Alright."
“That wasn’t an MK25 you shot and killed my men with. Don’t screw with me, Cap. Now take it out and slide it to me."
John locked eyes with his mortal enemy. Every scenario that played out in his head to somehow get the upper hand ended with Claire being shot. He would have to keep calm and wait for the perfect opportunity. He slowly reached into his waistband and removed his Glock 17 from its holster. Raising the weapon in the air, he laid it on the floor and kicked it to Miles. The sociopath reached into his pocket and tossed John a zip-tie.
“Now go sit down next to your friends and put those on.”
“What about my daughter?”
“What did I just say?”
“Dad,” Claire said, stretching out her hand to him. “I’m ok. Just do what he says."
John felt his body tingling with rage as he slipped on the zip-tie. He plopped down at Bill’s feet and examined the old man. His shallow breathing made John’s heart sink. Blood oozed from his arm and drenched his and Margaret’s clothes. Indignation filled him. Bill wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but John considered him a friend. He fought the urge to ask Miles why he found it necessary to harm a man twice his age every time he saw him but knew better than to provoke him.
“We have to get him to a hospital,” John said. “We want to avoid a body count, remember?”
“I told you to shut up, John,” Miles said, raising his voice. “Nobody goes anywhere until I’m done.” He grabbed a chair and ordered Claire to sit on the floor in front of him. He then sat down and pulled her between his legs. Glancing at John, he smiled contemptuously.
“What’s wrong, Cap?” he said. “Does this bother you? What? You don’t think I’m good enough for Claire?” He grabbed her by her jaw and forced her to look him in the face. “Damn, you fine,” he said to her.
A white-hot rage boiled inside John. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he left home. He had endured physical abuse from his father along with his siblings, and his mother.
“Take your filthy hands off her!” Margaret shouted.
Miles' eyes darted to her without moving his head. “I think our forbidden love is beginning to piss some folks off,” he said to Claire. She stared at him; her fear of him seemingly replaced by hatred. “What you think, hm?” he said. "I mean damn. A pretty woman like you can’t seem to find love anywhere without your folks trippin. First, it was that little Filipino boy back in Sewickley. And now me.”
“Huh?” Claire struggled to speak with her face in Miles’ clutches. “What did you just say? You found Otto?"
“Otto? Miles said. “What the hell kind of name is that for an Asian boy? I never asked who he was, but I caught him snooping around your place. As you can imagine I wasn’t too happy when I found out that you two were; well you know?"
"What did you do to him?” Claire said, her voice growing hoarse with grief? "Did you hurt him?”
“Well let’s just say he won’t be bumping’ and grinding’ for a long, long time."
Claire shrieked and reached to slap Miles, who laughed and wrapped his arms around her body to stop her from struggling. Claire screamed with rage and Miles threw her on her back.
“Get off her,” John roared, jumping to his feet. Margaret grabbed his legs and attempted to pull him back down.
“Sit down, boy,” Bill called out to him. “He’ll kill her."
Miles let out a wicked laugh as Claire kicked and slapped him, and calling him a monster. He dove on top of her and planted a passionate kiss on her.
Claire squealed and thrashed but he kept his lip-lock on her. Her squealing turned to moaning and her fight began to leave her as if his kiss seemed to overpower her will to fight.
An incensed John broke free of Margaret and Bill and lunged at Miles, and kicked him with all his might in his side. The gun fell from his hand and both men sprawled to retrieve it. John kneed Miles in the kidneys, and body-slammed him through the living room table. Glass shattered everywhere and Miles groaned allowed. As he sat up and struggled to stand, John, wrapped his zip-tied hands around the man’s neck and shook him ferociously. Miles squirmed and thrashed, struggling to breathe, but John squeezed with all his might.
“Snap that rat bastard's neck,” Bill cheered.
But with one last-ditch effort, Miles elbowed John in the side and drove him into the flat-panel TV against the wall. The television screen shattered and sparked, and both men dove out of the way. With fists as quick as a Cobra’s strike, Miles then struck at John’s face and chest and landed several jabs and a hook to his side. The Ex-Navy Captain bowled over and waited for the pain to subside.
“Come on, Cap,” Miles croaked, wincing. “All those years spent studying Brazilian Jujitsu, Muay Thai, and Krav Maga and that’s all you got? Even with your hands' tide, you can do better than that.”
He struck again, landing several haymakers to the body, but John was finally able to counter with an elbow to Mile’s head. But then the quicker soldier swept his legs from under him. John fell with a thud on his back and wondered if he had dislocated his shoulder. Miles retrieved his weapon and pointed it at him, but Claire picked up the chair and slugged it across his back.
Miles stumbled and the weapon clattered to the floor. Wild-eyed with rage, John speared him in the abdomen and mounted him. With all his might, he rained down blows, thrashing him about with both fists. But Miles threw his legs up around him and locked him in a triangle hold. John wriggled to get free, but Miles held him fast. John sprawled and his legs and arms became like rubber.
“CW!” Margaret called out. “Get the gun.”
Claire grabbed the weapon from beside them and pointed it at Miles's face. She squeezed the trigger and flinched, but the gun only clicked. Miles let go of John who fell to the floor, gasping for air. Claire squeezed the trigger a second time. Nothing. Miles stood to his feet and kicked John in the side.
He then removed his leather jacket, grimacing from being slammed through the table. Claire squeezed the trigger a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth time as he slowly approached her. Miles backed her up against the wall and reached for the empty gun. She reluctantly handed it to him, and he opened the magazine, revealing the clip.
“There's one in the chamber,” he said. “One more squeeze of the trigger and I’d be dead.”
Claire said nothing. She only drew up, unsure of what he was about to do next. John rolled to his knees and stood to his feet.
“I had an almost empty weapon just in case your dad got the better of me,” Miles told her.
He then reached into his belt and removed another gun from his waist and pointed it at John. “Now tell your old man to sit down. This one is loaded.”
Claire again said nothing. She looked to her father and then at Margaret and Bill. Miles pointed the gun in the air and pulled the trigger. The weapon fired and pieces of sheetrock fell from the ceiling near them.
“The next one goes into his chest,” Miles said.
“Sit down, Dad,” Claire said. “Please.”
Margaret yanked on John and pulled him to the ground. She put her arm in his and begged him to keep still.
“Now before we were rudely interrupted?” Miles said, wrapping his arms around Claire’s waist. He planted another kiss on her. Claire squeaked, but this time didn’t put up as much of a fight.
John wanted to rip his heart out of his chest. “Miles!” he shouted.
“Hey!” the dark stud of a man replied. “Am I pissing you off, boy? How do you think I felt when you and Pops shot and killed my men? Besides, she didn't fight me this time. I think she likes me, Cap.”
He let go of Claire and faced them. She slid to the floor and began bawling silently.
“All I asked you to do, John was give me what was owed to me. That money belonged to me and my people and you know it. But you had to make it hard, didn’t you? There he is. Captain Rambo; always got to be the hero, don’t you?”
“You can have the money,” John replied. “All I want now is for my family to be safe.”
“Family? You gonna’ talk to me about family? Because of you, Hadiya Kamaria is dead. You dropped the ball and now our sister in the struggle is rotting in the ground. That boy you jacked up in old hag’s rathole restaurant? That was my brother. Two of those men you shot back in Sewickley were members of my father’s entourage since I was a boy. They were very close friends of mine."
“Men like you and me don’t have room for friends, remember?”
Miles cocked his head and stretched his eyes at the man he once called his brother. “Is that right? It’s like that? Well, guess what? The price of your freedom just went up. You took from me? Not only am I taking the money?” He turned and ordered Claire to her feet. The shaken young beauty gingerly rose and wiped her nose.
Miles put an arm around her and pulled him to her. Claire flinched and put a hand on the wall to keep her balanced.
“You want me to spare your old man?” Miles asked.
Claire said nothing but nodded. She appeared to be so traumatized, that she was numb.
“You want your friends to live?” Miles said. “You want to see them walk out that door?”
Claire nodded.
“And you’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen, right?”
“What is this?” Bill said, slurred. “You really think I’m going to let you manipulate her?”
“You know what I want,” Miles told her. “A few glorious spine-tingling moments of pleasure for your freedom."
“You’ll keep your word?” Claire sniffled. "You’ll let my family go if I do this.”
Miles scrutinized her for a moment and then nodded.
“Don’t listen to this fool, CW,” John pleaded with her. “I speak for all of us when I say we’d rather die than let him take advantage of you.”
“There’s a room past the kitchen with a nice bed,” Claire told Miles.
“No, CW,” Bill huffed through exasperated breathing. "You don’t have to do this. We’re dead anyway."
“It’s okay, Tex,” Claire said. “You all have protected me all of my life. It’s my turn to take care of you.”
“CW, you can’t trust this man.”
“No, Tex,” Claire said. "It’s my decision.” She looked at Miles with contempt in her eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” She turned and walked toward the bedroom past the kitchen and Miles followed her.
“No, Claire, no,” Margaret wailed.
Just as John set his feet to charge at Miles again, the lights flickered and died. Darkness followed and John couldn’t see in front of him. Suddenly, the front window shattered and he heard the familiar clank of a frag shell hit the floor.
“Grenade!” he shouted just as the flashbang of a concussion grenade sounded right in front of him. He became disoriented and lost his balance. A piercing sound brought him to his knees and he covered his ears. He began coughing and wheezing and smelled the scent of pepper gas. Then out of nowhere, an electric shock went through his body and he fell limp to the ground. He had never heard of a concussion grenade with a delayed pepper gas blast and electric taser shocks.
Then John heard the muffled sounds of the door being kicked open and indiscriminate shouting. Men in black uniforms stormed the cabin and pointed their weapons at him. Before he could blink, he found himself on his stomach and someone on top of him. As he began to get his bearings, four men dressed in all black body armor, masks, and helmets pulled him to his knees and shined a flashlight in his face.
“It’s him, sir,” one of the men with an English accent called out. “We have a positive I.D. on John Hemingway.”
An older man walked up and looked him up and down. John squinted to adjust to the light and saw the unmistakable face of his former mentor, Mathis standing over him.
“Hello, old friend,” he nodded.
“Mathis,” John exclaimed. “This was all you, wasn’t it?”
The aging man half-smiled. “Get him in the van,” he instructed his men. “Who do we have over there?”
“We think this might be the guy that was tracking them, sir,” another agent called out. The tall muscular man stood over Miles, struggling to zip-tie him. “On your stomach!” he yelled.
“Screw you, fat boy,” Miles huffed, attempting to put the man in an Ambar submission.
“Seriously, Richards?” Mathis laughed. "The guy's disoriented and half your size. I tell you; good help is hard to find these days.” He motioned to three other men. “What is this? A Facebook watch party? Get over there."
The three men scurried over and tased Miles. He shrieked so loudly that it pierced John’s ears.
“Phew,” Mathis said to John. "He’s got some fight in him. I’ll give him that."
We also have a woman over here," said Richards. "I think she’s Hemingway’s daughter. Looks like she and the tracker were headed to the back room.”
Mathis leaned over John. “I guess I got here in the nick of time, hey buddy? Once you clear the cobwebs, you owe me one hell of a thank you.” He went over to Miles and peered at him. “Good find gentlemen. What’s your name, boy?"
“I’m not tellin’ you anything, Krusty the Clown. And this ain’t a plantation. Don’t call me boy.”
Mathis bent at the waist and leaned over Miles as if relishing a showdown of wills between them. “Yeah, but you're locked up like one, aren’t you? You want to behave like a nigger, I’ll treat you like one.”
“Who are you calling a nigger, cracker? Take this zip-tie off and we’ll see who’s the nigger.”
“Yeah?” Mathis nodded with a smile. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Trust, son. You’re not worthy. Call it in,” he said to his men.
Richards nodded. “Yes sir. Red Horse, this is War Ranger. We have agent John Hemingway and John Doe in custody. I repeat, we have the HVTs in custody.”
“Copy that, War Ranger,” a woman with a smoky voice responded over the radio. “Rendezvous with Angel Guard at the rally point for transport.”
“Solid copy, Ma’am,” responded Richards. “We’re Oscar Mike in five."
“I’m gonna' kill all y’all crackers!” Miles shouted as the agents pulled him to his feet and forced him out the door. “Every last one of you; you hear me?"
“Good Lord, son," Mathis said. “Boy, you sure got a set of lungs on you. But that’s ok. We got a nice room set up just for you, where you can do all the screaming you want. And trust me. You’ll be doing plenty of it."
“What about the old man and woman over here?” John heard another agent call out.
“Leave them,” Mathis said. “We got what we came for. Saddle up; let’s move out!”
“Mathis,” John muttered. “You traitorous bastard; you set me up.” Just then he felt a blow to the back of his head and the lights faded to black.
ns 15.158.61.54da2
